Between the Thorns
by gillyflower34
Summary: Daryl's intention was just to play along with Negan's game until he got the chance to escape the Sanctuary. His situation becomes more complicated when he forms a bond with a woman's who's husband he was responsible for killing. Old loyalties will be questioned when Daryl is forced to chose between his former group and his new life inside the ranks of Negan's army.
1. Chapter 1

Between the Thorns

Chapter 1

Daryl had been cold and hungry and tired for longer than he could remember. The deafening volume of the unrelenting music left him deaf to the point where had a been unsure of what was even being demanded of him in order for him to secure his release from the tiny cement closet he had been placed in. He wasn't sure how long he had been locked away from fresh air and sunshine. It felt like months but Daryl knew it was possible that it had only been a few days. Logic told him that his body would be showing more signs of starvation and light deprevation if it had been a long as it felt like. He remembered the feel of his bare feet on the concrete. Riding in a truck. Being back in Alexandria. But he wasn't totally sure if that had actually happened or if it had been some kind of strange fever dream.

The music was gone. That was the first thing that registered in Daryl's mind. The pain radiating from the gunshot wound in his shoulder had dulled to a low roar. He wasn't cold. He wasn't naked. He was lying in a bed and not on the hard cement floor of the place he had been held in for so long.

So many terrible things had happened. Both before the turn and after. But none of them had ever made Daryl want to stop living. Down in that dark hole with only his horrible memories to comfort him, Daryl had wished for death for the first time in longer than he could remember.

Daryl blinked his eyes open. His vision was fractured and hazy at first, one eye still being badly swollen from one of the numerous beatings he had recieved at the hands of Negan's men. Someone was staring down at him. Daryl focused on the eyes of the person first because they were comfortingly familiar. _Merle._ He had seen those eyes a hundred times before. In real life and in his dreams.

"Merle," Daryl croaked, this time speaking the word aloud. He reached for the man, sure in that moment that he had died inside that tiny cell. His brother was waiting for him on the other side. They could finally be together again.

"He's awake!"

The loud declaration was followed by several high pitched shrieks that had most certainly not come from the man Daryl had believed was standing over him. He pulled his hands out from under the fresh smelling blanket that was covering him and scrubbed at his eyes. After a few hard blinks Daryl was able to focus on what was actually in front of him.

Two young girls were peering down at him. The older of the two was the one that had his brother's icy blue eyes. Her hair was pulled back into two long braids that fell down over her shoulders but several curly tendrils had escaped and were fluffed up around her face. The girl grabbed a glass of water that was resting on a nearby table and held it out for Daryl to take. He attempted to grunt out his thanks as he reached for the glass.

"He's a beast!," the younger of the two girls squealed. She darted away like a little brown mouse. Daryl didn't follow her with his eyes but he could hear her girlish giggles bubbling up from near the foot of the bed he was lying in.

"Girls!" A woman stepped into view. She grabbed the water from the older girl and shooed both girls away. Daryl sighed as the water was removed from his reach and placed back on the small table nearby. "I told you girls to stay away from him!," the woman fussed, scolding the two girls, "This isn't funny!" It seemed the girls didn't agree with the woman's declaration, because Daryl could hear them both giggling now from a little further away. The woman stepped forward and motioned for Daryl to sit up. She placed a pillow behind his back, touching him as little as possible given that she was assisting him physically. Once he was sitting in a slightly more upright position, the much coveted glass of water was returned to him.

Daryl didn't need to be told twice. He chugged the water while he had the chance. Before it could be taken from him again. The woman didn't comment on his thirst. She simply took the empty glass and refilled it from a pitcher. This sequence of events was repeated several times.

With his thirst quenced, Daryl pushed himself into a more upright position and looked around. He was in a small apartment. It was set up much like the one that Negan and Dwight had said could be his if he joined them, except this one was a little larger and looked like it was set up for a small family to live in. He was in a bedroom but through the doorway he could see a small sitting area. There was only one large bed in the room, so he guessed the two girls he had seen slept in another area. No matter how he strained his mind, Daryl had no idea how he came to be in the place or who the woman was that had given him the water. She looked oddly familiar but he couldn't even begin to put a name to her face.

"Where am I?," Daryl asked. The woman sighed like she had been hoping he might wait at least a few more moments before peppering her with questions.

"You're still in the Sanctuary," she replied. Her tone implied that he had sounded a little too hopeful. The woman sent the girls out of the room, telling them to go and finish up breakfast. She clicked the bedroom door shut behind them. Taking a better look at her, Daryl was plagued again by the idea that he had seen the woman somewhere before. And not on his way into the Sanctuary. All he had seen then was the inside of the bag on his head. She was medium height with dark brown hair that was piled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her clothes were clean and her snug fitting jeans were ripped in a way that suggested they were meant to look that way.

"Whatever test Negan was giving you...," the woman said as she crossed her arms under her breasts and scowled at Daryl, "you must've passed."

"Why am I here?," Daryl asked. The woman bit her lip, her momentary facial expressions betraying the emotions that were battling inside her. She swallowed down whatever was upsetting her and forced her pretty face back into the neutral mask she had been regarding Daryl with when she handed him the water.

"You live here now," she announced plainly. It was clear from her tone that the woman wasn't particularly pleased about the situation or with Daryl's presence in what he was now guessing was her bed. She stepped forward and uncrossed her arms, leaning slightly forward to grip the wooden footboard of the bed with her hands. "My husband was one of Negan's lieutenants. He was one of the men you and your friends killed when you attacked that outpost."

Daryl's mouth fell open. He had killed those men in cold blood. Without a second thought. The idea that some of them may have had wives and children and families somewhere waiting on them to come home had never crossed his mind. Daryl had snuck up behind one of those men and slit his throat wide open. Left him to bleed out on the ground until the walkers smelled the blood and came for him.

As Daryl stared at the wounded woman in front of him, he was forced to consider the possibility that the man he had killed for some corn and his share of a cow had been this woman's husband. He was forced to consider the possibility that maybe he wasn't the good guy in all this. That maybe there were no heroes and no villians anymore. The Savoirs. Alexandria. Hilltop. Rick's group. Even Terminus. They were all just people trying to survive. Trying to stay alive.

"M'sorry," Daryl said. The words felt horribly lame and inadequate even as he spoke them. He was sure there wasn't a right way to say sorry killed the man you loved but I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. The woman turned her back. Daryl expected her to storm out of the small room but she just lifted her hands to fan at the tears that were forming in her eyes. When she turned around she had regained control of herself and her emotions.

"Sorry ain't gonna bring him back... but thank you for sayin' it anyway," she said, her voice thicker than it had been before his apology. After a few deep calming breaths, the woman went on. "I don't ever want to know if you were the one that did it. Either way, you were at least partly to blame for his death," she said, pausing a moment to let that sink in, "So since I wouldn't agree to be one of his wives, Negan says we are your responsibility now."

 _Responsibility._ Daryl had never been responsible for anything in his life. Not a dog. Not a steady job. And definitely not a wife and two children. He realized he must have been looking at the woman in front of him with an expression of disbelief and horror on his face because she quickly added, "I ain't any happier about it than you are so you can quit looking at me like I pissed in yer cornflakes."

The woman walked around the bed and took a few tentative steps closer. She sat down on the edge of the bed, being careful not to let the side of her hip touch Daryl's legs. The woman was close enough now that Daryl could smell her. She smelled like fresh oranges and laundry soap. Having her so close made Daryl more aware of the fact that he was close to naked under the blanket that was covering his body. The woman spoke again, but this time in a lower tone with a touch of pleading to her voice.

"My girls don't know anything about any of that mess," she explained, "I told them you were a friend of their father's. Please don't say anything to them." Daryl nodded. He had no burning desire to tell two sweet little girls that he had possibly murdered their father and left the man's body to be eaten by the dead. His only plan at the moment involved figuring out how to get the hell out this place and back to his people as fast as possible.

"There's no point in arguing with Negan once he makes a decision," the woman added with a sigh of frustration, "so we might as well make the best of it." She stood up and tugged at her jeans, pulling them up higher on her hips. Pointing at a small pile of clothes that were folded up on a chair she added, "Why don't you get dressed and come have some breakfast with us, you've got to be hungry."

At the mention of food, Daryl heard his stomach start to grumble. He nodded again at the woman. She turned and headed for the door, clearly having no interest in seeing the parts of Daryl that he was covering up with her freshly laundered bedding. Daryl wasn't overly fond of staring at women's bodies, especially women that had already made it more than clear they didn't have any romantic interest in him.

Maybe it was just curiosity. Or maybe it was the joy of finally having something besides his own hands to look at after so long alone in the dark. Either way Daryl found his eyes roaming over the woman's body as she walked away from him towards the bedroom door. She had an appealing shapely curve to her thighs and the jeans she was wearing accentuated the firmness of her ass. The loose fitting t-shirt she was wearing had a cut out section in the back of it that hung just low enough to give him a peek at the strap of her black lace bra.

"Wait," Daryl called out, stopping her just as her hand was gripping the doorknob. She stopped and turned towards him, her eyebrows raised inquisitively as if to ask without words what he could possibly want from her. "You never told me yer name," Daryl said. Their introduction had been far from ordinary. But he still felt like he ought to have some idea what he was supposed to call her. Especially if they were going to pretend to be friends in front of her daughters.

"It's Jean," she said. Then she smiled. Not a full toothy grin or anything. It looked more like she was feeling a little silly that she had just spit out so much personal information about herself without bothering to even tell this man the most basic of introductory information. But Daryl decided he would take it. Even a sad smile from a pretty girl was still about a thousand times better than a dog food sandwich any day of the week.

"I'm Daryl," he offered. She hadn't asked and maybe she already knew his name. But he figured an introduction was something to start from.

 **** Jean is partly inspired by the character Verinia from the movie Spartacus and partly by the actress Adelaide Kane. Inspiration photos are up on my tumblr account ****


	2. Chapter 2

Between the Thorns

Chapter 2

 ****Welcome to new old and new readers. Big thanks to anyone that took the time to leave a review. This chapter takes place the day before the previous one. I was going to open with this but decided I wanted to start with Daryl's pov instead. ****

Jean had become an expert at not seeing things she didn't want to deal with. It was a survival skill that was necessary to her life in the Sanctuary. She was safe. Her girls were happy and well fed. Even if that meant that someone else was going to suffer, Jean just chalked it up to life in the new world order. She often had to stop and remind herself that everything wasn't fair and perfect before the turn either.

In the Sanctuary there were three types of people. The dead or dying that filled up the walker moats around the perimeter of the place were the first kind. No one wanted to join that group. The middle tier was full of people that worked for points. These were mostly people that had either been taken from other communities by Negan and forced to work for him, or people that had joined the group willingly but were not skilled at physical combat. The third group was the most elite and included Negan, who was the unquestioned leader of the group, and his lieutenants. The wives and children of these men were considered to be a part of this group and were usually privy to the same special priviledges as their men. These people called themselves the Saviors.

Since her husband was killed, Jean found herself occupying a strange undefinable place in the small society she lived in. She had refused several offers to become a wife to another lieutenant. And had even refused Negan himself, which had frightened her and kept her lying awake in bed at night for several days in a row. The reason she had the luxury of being able to even make that choice was because unlike many of the other wives and concubines that paid their way by spreading their legs, Jean had been working for points even before she lost her husband.

She would have never thought that being a hairstylist would end up being a surival skill. But it turned out that even after the breakdown of society, people's hair still grew and needed to be cut. Jean started out cutting hair in the small kitchenette area of the apartment she and her husband called home inside the large factory that served as the base of operations for the Saviors. Once Negan started wanting her to take care of his wives and keep them looking good, Jean had been smart enough to negotiate a small space in another area of the factory for her purposes. The space was still a little bare looking, but she had a proper chair, sink and even a massage table, all scavenged for her by her husband and some of his close associates on supply runs. All Negan's lieutenants frequented her small salon, plus all their wives and girlfirends. Sometimes even the points workers would save up enough to come in and have a proper haircut. Even without her husband's status as a lieutenant, Jean was able to make enough to pay for what she and her girls needed to survive.

"Close your eyes," Jean told her girls. She was in a hurry to get her daughters dropped off in the kitchen area and get to her salon. Negan himself had an appointment with her that morning and the big man didn't appreciate being made to wait. Jean had started her day off horribly by waking up late, and then her younger daughter had again been unable to locate her shoes or her socks. So instead of taking the long way through the dorms, Jean led her girls outside and around the perimeter of the factory. She hated going that way because it meant having to look at the living dead people that were tied and chained to the fence that surrounded the place.

Jean kept her younger daughter pulled tightly to her side as she led the older girl by the hand.

"Don't look at them Rose," she cautioned the older girl, increasing her speed as she tried to hurry past the disturbing scene to their right. Jean rounded the corner, running smack into one of Negan's top men in her hurry and nearly knocking the man to the ground.

"Oh Simon," she quickly apologized, "I'm so sorry." Jean let go of her older daughter's hand and tugged at the hem of the tall man's shirt to straighten out the wrinkles she had caused. Jean's older daughter immediately started towards the fence to get a better look at the rotting corpses on the other side of it. Jean snagged the girl by the sleeve of her shirt and hauled her back to her side. The girl yanked away from her mother's grasp with an indignant snort but thankfully did not make another attempt to get away.

"What are you doing running around out here?," Simon asked. He smiled at Jean and gave her younger daughter a wink. The girl giggled and buried her face back into her mother's side. Coming outside wasn't wasn't against the rules. But Jean usually took the long way through the factory specifically to avoid this area. When she slammed into him in what appeared to be a complete panic, his first concern was she was running away from someone. And Simon didn't take kindly to anyone harassing the woman he was hoping to develop a romantic relationship with.

"I'm just running late," Jean explained. Simon shook his head and laughed at her.

"Let me walk you the rest of the way?," he offered. Jean smiled back and nodded her head, grateful to the man. While she knew his motives weren't exactly altruistic, he had been very kind to her and her daughters since her husband passed away. He had been sure to make his intentions clear, but so far he hadn't pushed her for anything physical.

Simon crouched down and patted his back, offering Jean's older daughter a piggyback ride on his back. Rose hesitated a moment, her face wrinkled up as she tried to decide if pretending she was to old for such games was worth missing out on having some fun. The little girl in her won out and she lept onto the man's back and wrapped her arms around his neck. He bounced her around as he walked, making her long braided pigtails swing. Jean laughed when the girl squealed and tightened her grip around Simon's neck, nearly choking him.

They rounded another corner and were forced to stop. Dwight was dragging a naked man out of the building by his arm, the rest of his filthy body scraping against the concrete. Jean turned her head and hugged her younger daughter closer to her side. She could only guess that the naked man was the same one that had been brought in a week before with a potato sack over his head. One of the men that had led the raid on the outpost where her husband had been killed. Jean thought she ought to feel anger towards the man and glad that he was being tortured. But looking at his battered body, she felt nothing but pity. If Negan wanted to kill him, he ought to just get on with it instead of dragging it out.

Simon lowered Rose to the ground and grabbed the man's other arm, helping Dwight to drag him the last few feet to the area where the hose would reach him. Other than dirt, he was covered in what Jean guessed was his own vomit and excrement. The smell radiating off him was absolutely foul.

"Is he dead?," Rose asked loudly. The girl took a brave step forward to get a better look at the man. "I can see his thingy!," she hollered, pointing to the man's groin area, "Is it supposed to look like that?" Simon and Dwight started laughing. Jean stepped forward and clamped her hand down over her daughter's eyes.

"Time to go," she hissed, grabbing both girls and dragging them past the gruesome scene. She made it half way around the building before she heard Simon's feet pounding against the pavement as he hurried to catch up with her. They were almost to the entrance that would lead to the kitchen area.

"I can walk them in," Simon offered. Jean nodded gratefully and gave her younger daughter a small push towards the man. "Got plans for lunch?," he asked before Jean could scurry away. She shook her head. The man smiled and gave her a little wave, telling her he would see her at lunch time then.

Once her daughters were out of sight, Jean started rushing towards her salon. She sighed, feeling her tension release when she saw that no one was waiting for her outside the door. She dug her key from her pocket and twisted it in the lock, pushing the door open and darting inside. As soon as she swung the door shut behind her she felt a large pair of hands descend on her, grabbing her hard by the shoulders as the person made a loud startling noise. Jean shrieked and jerked away, turning around to find Negan standing there having a good laugh at her expense.

"God fuckin' dammit," she cursed, "I almost pissed my pants!" This made the big man laugh even harder.

"That's what you get for making me wait," he informed her once his laughter was under control. Jean sighed and laughed a little at herself for startling so easy. She grabbed her apron from it's hook and pulled the loop over her head. Next she turned the faucet on at a low trickle, aiming the water hose down into a large green bucket. The water heater was quite a walk from where she was, so she liked to get the water going so it could heat up. The water she collected in the bucket would be used later to water the plants she grew under a small light in her apartment.

"You know it was Simon's fault that I was late," Jean joked as she pulled a fresh sheet from the cupboard and stretched it out over the massage bed.

"That's my boy! He keep you up late last night," Negan teased back, making a very obscene gesture that Jean pretended she didn't see.

"No," she countered with a giggle even though she didn't think his joke was very funny, "he was walking me here and he stopped to help Dwight drag some naked guy out of the building to get hosed off."

"Still got ole Simon in the friendzone do ya?," Negan teased, unwilling to change the subject from her lack of putting out to something that would make her less uncomfortable. Jean opened another cupboard, looking for the unscented cocoa butter that Negan preferred when suddenly her grief hit her like a freight train. She held it off as best she could, only crying when she was alone in bed. The last person she wanted to look weak in front of was Negan. Jean bit her lip and forced herself to blink back her tears. But she hadn't been quick enough.

The last person Jean ever expected to get any sympathy from was Negan. She had never seen anything from him besides brute strength and dirty jokes. He took her by surprise when she felt his hand on her shoulder. The large man pulled her against his chest and rubbed her back, letting her cry into his shirt.

"John was a good man," he said. Jean felt the man's grip on her tighten as he pulled her against the growing buldge in his pants. She had to fight the urge to jerk away from him. She knew he wouldn't force himself on her but Jean also knew Negan wasn't above making life very difficult for her if he felt she had insulted him or slighted him in some way. He didn't rape women, but that was only because most of the women in the sanctuary were too afraid to refuse him even if they wanted to. Jean felt his hand move up, stroking her long dark hair. Then his hand moved under her chin, forcing her to tilt her tear stained face up and look at him.

"He was a good man," Negan repeated, "but that doesn't mean you have to punish yourself." The man paused, wiping her tears away with his fingers. "There's no reason a woman as hot as you should be alone."

Jean's mind swirled as she tried to think of some way, any way, that she could get herself out of the situation she was in without putting herself or her girls in jeopardy. Because telling Negan that he was a disgusting chauvinist swine and she would put shit in her mouth before she slid his dick between her lips probably wasn't the best idea. He was looking like he was thinking about trying to kiss her and she knew she needed to say something quick before that happened.

"All those other women," Jean finally spit out, "That's not something I can do. I'm sorry." Jean scanned the man's face as she said a silent prayer to herself. For a moment she wanted to take it all back. She was afraid for her girls. Agreeing to be one of Negan's whores would guarantee their safety. But there was something inside Jean that was stronger than her fear. The same deep rooted strength that had given her the courage to stand up to her own father all those years ago when he demanded that she give the bastard child she was pregnant with up for adoption and she had kept the baby instead gave her strength again that day not to give in.

Jean could tell from Negan's expression that he was not happy with being refused. But he didn't look as angry as she had seen him before. She hoped that saying she didn't want to share him was padding the blow to his enormous ego.

"Don't play well with others?," he teased. Jean relaxed a little, hoping that his joke was signalling the end of the discussion. But then the man's mouth curved up into a sickening grin. A chill snaked up her spine. She was going to have to pay for her decision. That much was clear from the way Negan was looking at her. The only question now was how high the price was going to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Between the Thorns

Chapter 3

Her only response to knowing Daryl's name was the slight dip of her head that she gave him before she clicked the door shut behind her. Once she was gone, Daryl pushed the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had been placed into bed completely naked. Daryl wondered if Jean had seen him that way and he supposed there was no way that she hadn't. After everything he had been through he wasn't sure how he had any dignity left. But he found the idea of that woman seeing him in nothing but the skin he was born in embarassing. Embarassing with a slight tinge of exciting. He couldn't help wondering if she liked what she saw.

"Don't let yer dick do yer thinkin' for ya," Daryl mumbled to himself, "got more important things to worry 'bout than _her._ " He did have more important things to worry about than a pretty face. The first thing was finding a way out of this fucking place and getting back to his people. They needed him. Rick needed him. But he wasn't going to be clumsy or stupid about it this time. That was one mistake Daryl didn't plan to make twice. There was dark bruises all over his body from the last time. And he wasn't sure if his left eye was going to heal properly. The swelling was going down but his still felt like his vision and depth perception were off.

Daryl stood up, moving slowly since he wasn't sure which parts of his body were injured or how badly he had been hurt. The bullet wound on his shoulder had a clean bandage over it. The wound itself was itchy, a sure sign that it was begining to heal properly. Once he was on his feet, Daryl stretched out his body experimentally. He felt a little dizzy and his ribs were painfully sore. But other than that he didn't feel as bad as he expected.

There were clothes sitting on a chair for him. They had been neatly folded up and stacked in a small pile. He grabbed for the socks first. The entire time Daryl had been suffering down in that cold black hole his feet had been freezing cold. At one point he was sure he would have sold his soul to the devil himself for a pair of woolen socks.

His feet were actually warm from being under the heavy blankets. But it still felt amazing to pull on a fresh pair of socks. As Daryl slid them on he noticed that his feet were not only clean but the nails on his toes had been trimmed. He had already guessed that whoever brought him here had hosed him off first, but trimming his nails seemed an odd thing to do. Daryl glanced down at his hands. Except for his thumbnails, he liked to bite those down to the quick, his fingernails were also neatly trimmed. And they were clean. He couldn't remember the last time his hands had looked that clean. He shook his head, sure that his nails being trimmed was one mystery that he probably wouldn't ever solve.

Daryl held the clothes up in front of his body first. The jeans were a little long in the legs but otherwise everything looked like it would fit. The only thing he had seen before were his boots. Once he was dressed he slipped them on and cuffed the hem of the jeans he was wearing. Other than the jeans, boxers, a black t-shirt and a well worn flannel shirt had been laid out for him. They weren't things he would have chosen for himself but at this point he was happy to be clothed in anything besides a stinky sweatshirt with a weird letter painted on it.

Daryl placed his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. He still wasn't convinced this wasn't just some new stage of his torture. If he found Dwight and Negan in the next room holding Carl's severed hand he wouldn't be surprised. But when Daryl finally summoned the courage to swing the bedroom door open he found nothing of the sort was happening.

"It's the beast!," the younger of the two girls shrieked again. Her older sister leaned over and rabbit punched her in the arm. Their mother stopped eating and gave them both a stern look. The girl muffed a giggle which stopped abruptly as her mouth dropped open. She was staring at Daryl like he had a grown a third eye.

"Those are daddy's clothes," the youner girl announced. Her sister's head snapped up from her food as the older girl checked to see if her sister was correct in her assumptions. Her face twisted up into a little scowl. For the second time since he had first seen the girl Daryl was reminded of his brother. The older girl turned back towards her sister.

"Well it's not like he's coming back to claim them," she declared. If the older girl's intentions were to upset her younger sister then her words had the desired affect. The younger of the two girls began to cry. Their mother rose from the table and leaned down to wrap her arms around her younger daughter as she whispered to the older girl to be quiet already and just eat breakfast.

Daryl stood silently in the doorway of the bedroom and watched as the minor family drama played out in front of him. He was hungry and there was food on the table but he felt uncomfortable just sitting down. Not only was he about to eat with the dead man's family. He was also wearing the man's clothes. It made him feel unsettled, like he had murdered the man on purpose in order to take over his life even though that had been the furthest thing from Daryl's mind when he had led the attack on that satellite station.

Jean smoothed her daughter's hair down and kissed the girl on the cheek before she sat back down in her chair. Since Daryl was still standing awkwardly in the doorway of her bedroom she kicked the only empty chair at the table, sliding it out and indicating that was the place she intended for him to sit in.

"Nothing fancy," she warned him, "I'm not really much of a cook." Daryl stepped forward and took the seat she had pushed out for him. His stomach rumbled and he started to salivate instantly. He couldn't remember the last time he had real food. Even back at Alexandria they had been scraping by on scraps and half portions of canned beans. There was a bowl in front of him that was full of grits. On a plate next to the bowl there were two large links of pork sausage and a small pile of scrambled eggs. Daryl had to force himself not to shovel the food into his face with his hands. As it was he started eating so fast that when he looked up both of Jean's children were staring at him like he was an animal on exhibit at the zoo.

"I can drink my juice real fast," the younger of the two informed him, "wanna see?" Without waiting for a response the girl grabbed for her nearly full glass of apple juice and began gulping and slurping it down. When the glass was empty she plunked it down on the table and let out a the loudest burp Daryl had ever heard come out of someone so small.

"Lily!," her mother scolded, "we have company..." Jean glanced over at Daryl as if she was trying to decide whether or not his presence warranted proper table manners from her children before she added, "...sort of."

A knock on the door haulted the conversation. Daryl felt his body stiffen up. He gripped the fork in his hand so hard his knuckles went white. When Jean swung the door open to reveal just a solitary woman standing there Daryl let himself relax a little. The girls hopped up from the table and hurried over by the door to put their shoes on. Their mother kissed them both and reminded them that to come straight back to the apartment after they were done helping in the kitchen. The door shut behind them and Daryl was once again left alone with Jean.

He hadn't had a chance to really observe her before. But not that he had gotten a better look at Jean it was obvious that she was grieving. There were dark circles under her eyes and she had only nibbled at the bowl of food in front of her. And when she had spoken to her girls she had the forced body language of someone that was barely holding herself together. Some woman were at their most beautiful when they smiled. And some looked best with a look of serious concentration on their faces. But the woman in front of him was appealing even in her grief. Daryl wished more than anything that he had some words of comfort to offer her. But he couldn't even begin to think of the right thing to say.

"There's still food in the girl's bowls," Jean offered, "..and mine." She hadn't failed to notice that Daryl had eaten every single morsel of the food she had put on his plate. Food in the sanctuary wasn't unlimited. But it had been a while since she had seen anyone that hungry. Starvation made people desperate and Negan preferred them all calmly under his control. Daryl nodded to indicate he wanted the food, then he leaned back in his chair so Jean wouldn't have to get too close to him while she scraped the remaining food into his bowl. As he ate Jean pulled a plastic tub out from under a nearby table and began quietly placing her daughter's dirty dishes into it. She moved slowly and methodically, like she was running on pure muscle memory. Her body was there but her mind was somewhere else. When Daryl finished eating she took his dirty dishes and placed them into the tub with the rest.

"I'm sorry about the clothes," Jean said quietly, "You were naked when they brought you here. My husband's stuff was all I had." Daryl wasn't sure how to respond. He felt this woman had shown him an extrodinary measure of kindness. Much more than he deserved. He was responsible for so many terrible things. He had gotten Glenn killed. Gotten Denise killed. Even Merle's death weighed heavy on his conscience. If he had just left with Merle instead of going back to his prison family maybe all of them would still be alive. He didn't deserve her generosity.

As Jean moved to pick up the last dirty dish, Daryl's hand shot out and caught her by the wrist. She gasped a little. Her body went stiff. Jean jerked her hand back, attempting to free herself from his grasp. But he held on. Her wrist was so small and dainty compared to the size of his hand.

He didn't want to scare her. Daryl only meant to get her attention. Once he realized he was frightening the woman he let go of her. Jean jerked her hand away and wrapped her other hand around her wrist like he had injured her in some way.

"Didn't mean to scare ya," he said, "I just..." Daryl stuttered and stammered for a moment, lost in the deep liquid brown of her eyes. He had heard the term doe-eyed before but never really understood what people meant by it. But that's exactly what Jean's eyes reminded him of. The gentle soft brown eyes of a deer. Why did she have to be so pretty? So fragile. Why couldn't he just hate her like he wanted to hate every asshole in this fucking terrible place? It would be so much easier for him that way. "Thank ya for breakfast," he finally spit out, "thanks fer the clothes."

The skin on her wrist still tingled in the spots where Daryl had touched her. Jean felt frozen in place, unable to do anything but look at him. She had noticed how good looking he was when he was lying unconcious in her bed. It was hard not to notice when his naked body had been on full display. She missed her husband so terribly that it made her chest ache for a man to hold her in his arms. And his arms looked like they were meant for holding. But she hadn't been expecting him to have such clear blue eyes. Not that she had noticed them Jean felt unable to look at anything else. The intensity of his gaze made her feel tingly all the way down to her toes.

Guilt was what finally moved her a few steps backwards. Her husband hadn't been dead even a month. And her marriage had been a real one, not one of Negan's idiotic couplings. In the sanctuary men got married for the sole reason of claiming ownership over the woman of their choosing. Jean had been married to her husband back before the turn. When marriage actually meant something. They had survived so much together. She was angry at herself for being so weak and needy. And for even entertaining the possibility of moving on so soon and with someone that she really ought to hate for what he had done to her.

"You don't need to thank me," she said. She stared down at the dishes as she spoke, not trusting herself to look at Daryl again.


	4. Chapter 4

Between the Thorns

Chapter 4

Daryl's head was bagged when he was brought in. Now that he had the chance to look around, he tried to act as if he didn't have much interest in his surroundings. But as Jean led him through the giant maze of a place his trained eyes scanned everything. He looked for every and any possible avenue of escape. The Saviors base camp appeared to be a large factory that had been converted into a sort of liveable fortress. From the few small glimses he had seen of the surrounding area, the ground was flat for at least a mile around the place. All the trees had been cleared. It would be impossible to get either in or out of the Sanctuary without being seen.

Jean stopped by what looked like a small commissary in one of the larger gathering areas. This particular room was set up like a large cafeteria, although only a few of the many tables were being used at the moment. No one blantantly stared, but Daryl could feel their curious eyes on him. From that alone he knew that strangers were a rarity in this place. He was going to have a hard time blending in. Jean asked a large man in a Nirvana t-shirt for a bottle of water. The man made a few marks on a clipboard before handing the requested item over to her. She handed the water over to Daryl, motioning for him to continue following her.

When they moved out of the way, another man stepped up to the counter. Daryl was concentrating on his surroundings so he didn't hear the beginning of the argument. But he paused in the doorway, watching as the man behind the counter leaned over it to punch the other man in his nose. A small tug on the flannel sleeve of his shirt reminded him that Jean was there. She leaned in close enough that Daryl could smell her. The scent of baby powder and soap lingered on her skin.

"Not our business," she whispered. She gave Daryl one more gentle tug before she let go of his sleeve and started moving, glancing behind her once to make sure Daryl was following. They walked down a few more winding hallways before finally arriving at their destination. Jean hadn't told him where they were going, only that she was going to take him to work with her until they figured out what Daryl's job was going to be. She didn't specify who _they_ were and Daryl didn't ask.

Daryl wasn't sure exacty where he expected Jean to take him. She had said something about her girls working in the kitchen so he had assumed Jean had a similar job. To say he was surprised when she unlocked a door and led him into what appeared to be a small hair salon would be an understatement. He had never been in a beauty shop before. Merle used to go to a barber. But Daryl always cut his own hair at home with a pair of electric clippers. That was if he cut it at all. Jean motioned for him to sit in a large black chair that had a strange plastic hood contraption attached to the back of it. When he hesitated she smiled at him, revealing her small even teeth and the tiny dimples in her cheeks.

"It's just a dryer," she told him, her voice indicating that she thought he was acting like a bit of a baby, "Won't hurt you." Daryl sat where she pointed, relieved to be positioned in the back corner of the small room where no one would be able to sneak up on him. He sat quietly, watching Jean move around the place. She pulled a thin black apron over her head, wrapping the long strings all the way around her slim waist to tie them in front. She lit a few scented candles and turned a water hose on to a low trickle, letting it flow into a large green bucket that was sitting on the floor under the sink. Her hands glided over an old well worn looking CD player. Daryl tensed up. Loud music was one of the ways that he had been tortured. But the music from Jean's music box was quiet and soothing. Some old classic country with the volume so low that it was hard to make out the words.

As Jean busied herself washing a small bundle of combs and brushes out in a small utility sink, the door to the small shop swung open. A tall man with a receding hairline and a bushy moustache walked in. Seeing an unfamiliar man put Daryl on edge. Out of instinct he reached for his knife. Finding nothing but the empty waistband of his jeans Daryl settled for clenching the large water bottle he was holding in his fist as the man approached. Daryl was prepared for a fight. But other than to give him a rather dirty look the man paid him no attention. He headed straight for Jean.

"Simon," she said, plastering what Daryl considered to be a very fake looking smile on her face, "I wasn't expecting you this morning..." The man moved closer to Jean, placing one of his hands on the small of her back. Daryl's jaw ticked. He knew he had no claim on this woman. But he still didn't like another man putting his hands on her in such a familiar way.

"I need to talk to you," Simon said. He cast a glance over his shoulder, giving Daryl another dirty look before he turned and spoke to him. "Could you excuse us," he said, lifting his hand from Jean's back to point at the door. Daryl stared back at the man. He didn't like him touching Jean and he liked the idea of leaving her alone with this asshole even less. But Daryl forced himself to look objectively at the situation. Jean was obviously familiar with this man. The stance of her body was slightly more tense than it had been before the man came in, but she did not appear to be afraid of the man or upset by his presence in her personal space. Daryl was also aware of his position in this new group. Or rather his lack of position. Any slight or show of agression towards one or any of Negan's man was likely to land him back down in that tiny dark box.

Daryl got up and headed for the door, purposely moving as leisurely as possible. He clicked it shut behind him and leaned against the wall outside. Daryl briefly entertained the idea of making some kind of run for it. Instead he settled for taking a long sip of water and reminding himself that the only way out was to earn trust. They would take him out on another run eventually. And that's when he would make his move. Instead of running, Daryl edged closer to the door, hoping to hear some of what was being said inside.

Simon moved his hand from her waist and set it on her arm. Normally Jean wouldn't have minded the familiar contact from him but she was still feeling good and pissed at the man from the day before. Ultimatums didn't sit well with her. They never had. Negan had given her a choice. Marry Simon or take some strange man in to live with her. A man that Negan said had been with the group that killed everyone at the outpost including her husband John. And Simon had just stood there and not said one fucking word. He could have spoken up for her. But he didn't. Probably because he had been hoping she would let Negan bully her into marrying him. Where she came from that wasn't exactly considered a romantic gesture.

"I'm sorry," he said. Jean crossed her arms under her breasts and stared up at him, waiting to see if his apology was going to be followed up with some pathetic excuse for his behavior. "I had no idea Negan was going to put you on the spot like that," he said. Jean sighed, feeling herself soften a little towards the man. She hated when people followed apologies with excuses but Simon did seem sincere. And sincerely upset.

"What's done is done," Jean announced with a shrug of her shoulders. Simon slid his hand up to squeeze gently at her upper arm. And he was lucky that's all he tried because while Jean was feeling a little sorry for him, if tried to hug or kiss her, her sympathy wasn't going to save him from getting kicked square in the balls.

"It doesn't have to be done," he said. His voice had a touch of pleading and melancholy to it. "I can talk to Negan..." Talk to Negan. Jean knew what that meant. More of the same bullshit from the day before. She wasn't going to be threatened or forced into a relationship she didn't want.

"I just lost my husband. I'm not getting married again anytime soon," she spit, "Not to you. NOT TO ANYONE!" The loss of her husband was still a fresh open wound inside her. Jean knew she needed to reel in her anger before she made an enemy out of the only person that had shown her any kindness. She took a deep breath and forced herself not to yell and scream and order Simon away from her.

"It wouldn't be... I mean I don't expect...," Simon lifted his hands and raked them through his hair, stuttering and stammering in his attempt to find the right words. "John was my friend," he reminded her, his tone low and gentle despite her rising anger. "I just want to take care of you. And your girls. That's all."

"And all I have to do in return is warm your bed for you, right?," Jean asked. She wasn't blind and she wasn't stupid. She knew how things worked. Negan and all his cronies made a big show of keeping the women around this place safe. But what they were really doing was turning them into whores. And she wasn't any man's whore.

"It wouldn't be like that," Simon insisted. He wasn't going to lie and say he didn't want to sleep with her. Jean was a beautiful woman. But more than that, everyone knew she never screwed around on her husband. Not like most of the so-called wives around this place. Even when John was gone out on runs that took him several weeks Jean never even looked at anyone else. That made her more than beautiful. That made her a prize to be won. Pretty much every man in the place was on a mission to be the one that got into her tight pants. But that didn't mean Simon didn't care about her. "I would never make you do anything you didn't want to do, you know that."

Simon could see the angry tears welling up in the corners of Jean's dark eyes. He hoped that meant she was ready to give in to his pleading. All he wanted to do was hold her. But at the very least he could get her safely into his apartment and away from that freeloading straggler. That guy looked like a fucking animal. Simon didn't like the idea of him being alone with Jean and her girls.

Jean sighed. She was angry. She was depressed. But most of all she was tired. Tired of being strong. So tired that for a moment agreeing to marry a man she wasn't in love with seemed preferable over continuing to argue with him about it. She felt like she only had so much fight left in her. She wasn't even sure anymore what she was even fighting for.

"I can't do this right now..." Jean said.

A knock on the door saved Jean from having to finish her refusal, which even she could admit was getting weaker and more pathetic by the second. Just like her.

"Sherry's here for her appointment," Jean chirped. This time she put her hand on Simon's arm as she steered the man towards the door. "I'll have to talk to you later." With that Jean turned her attention to Sherry. Sherry had always been perceptive when it came to the moods of people around her. And this was no exception. She ignored the fact that Simon was lingering in the doorway and started up a conversation with Jean about shoes. Which was really a conversation about nothing.

Sherry had slipped past. But now the man was blocking Daryl's way back into the salon. Daryl watched as Simon's irritation at being ignored by the two women inside grew. Finally he turned on his heel and stormed off, intentionally slamming his shoulder into Daryl's when he passed by. Daryl ignored the contact. After seeing Glenn's head bashed into pieces in front of him having another man bump into him just didn't cause the same reaction that it might have several months ago.

"Please shut the door behind you," Jean requested. Daryl clicked the door shut and returned to the corner seat to drink his water. With Simon gone the superficial conversation the two women were having stopped. Sherry rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around Jean. The two of them clung to each other like if they let go they both might blow away and crumble into a million pieces.

"Are you okay," Sherry asked they let go of each other. Jean nodded her head. Sherry sat back down in the styling chair, lifting her hair so Jean could fasten a black cape around her neck. "How about you Daryl?," Sherry asked, "How are you holding up?" Jean stopped and cocked her head, glancing back and forth between Sherry and Daryl with a confused look on her face.

"How do you two know each other?"


	5. Chapter 5

Between the Thorns

Chapter 5

Daryl wouldn't go so far at to say that Jean had warmed to him after Sherry had practically sung his praises to her. But he would say that at least Jean was making occasional eye contact with him not instead of staring right through him like he wasn't even there. She even smiled at him once as he was swiping the hair from his eyes and suggested that maybe he ought to think about getting himself a haircut. Not that Daryl cared or was willing to admit that he cared what Jean thought of him. Being around her was just a temporary situation that he was stuck in. The haircut she suggested didn't sound so terrible. But Daryl wasn't sure if he felt comfortable letting anyone get that close to him with such sharp scissors in their hands. Especially the widow of a man that he had killed. So Daryl shook his head and remained silent.

After Sherry left, a woman came in dragging a small child by the hand. After some resitance, the child was bribed with the promise of a lollipop to climb up into the chair and allow Jean to trim the long hair out of his eyes and off his neck. Afterwards she did produce the promised treat from a colorful tin bucket she kept up on a high shelf. Jean set the bucket down in the chair next to Daryl in her hurry to walk the mother and son to the door. Daryl had never been partial to sweets. But either his tastes had changed or the time he spent in near starvation were making his body crave sugar. Because just looking at that candy was making his mouth water. He took a quick glance around. Jean was still chatting with the boy's mother. She was standing in the doorway of the salon with her back to Daryl. Before he even made the decision to steal from her, Daryl was sliding a small handful of lollipops into his pocket.

Once she got done with the few other appointments she had for the morning, Jean told Daryl she was taking him down to speak to the man that was in charge of the work assignments. Like earlier that day she led the way and he followed along behind her like a trailer on a truck. Daryl was again careful to commit everything he saw to memory. But he wasn't so involved with memorizing his surroundings that he failed to notice the way her hips swayed as she walked. And how friendly Jean seemed to be with the people here. Most people had a smile for her as she passed. Especially the men. A few even turned and stared at her, not even trying to hide their appreciative glances. Daryl couldn't help but think about how much easier it might be for him to escape the Sanctuary with a little help from her. How to go about convincing her to help him was a puzzle he didn't have any idea how to even begin to solve.

Thus far, the only Savior men Daryl that had been aquainted with were fighters, members of Negan's army. When Jean said she was taking him to meet with the one that was in charge of job assignments, Daryl expected another cocky rough talking personality. What Daryl saw holding a clipboard and looking back at him was the furthest thing from what he had expected. The man was overweight and the armpits of his shirt were damp with sweat. He stuttered when he spoke to Jean, obviously nervous to be in her presence. To his credit the sweaty man didn't seem to care where Daryl was from or why he had come to live at the Sanctuary. He was only interested in Daryl's potential job skills.

"What did you do before the turn?," the man asked. Daryl ground his teeth, his jaw twitching. He hate questions about his past. But that particular one was his least favorite question of all time. And there was no way he was going to admit in front of Jean or the fat man for that matter, that he had never had a real job in all his life. Unless selling drugs with his brother or hunting counted as a job.

"Did the huntin' fer my old group," Daryl told the man. When that didn't earn him a response he added, "was the recruiter fer Alexandria." He cast a sideways glance at Jean to gauge her reaction. She was wrinkling up her nose, looking at him like he was crazy.

"You don't have clearance to leave the perimeter," she told him. Her tone implied that he should have already known that. "Aren't you the one that built that bike D's been showing off to everyone?," she asked, looking hopeful. Daryl nodded, curious as to the reason why she seemed so concerned with what his job assignment was in the first place.

"You need another mechanic," Jean told the fat man, "Mike was complaing about it last week when I cut his hair." The fat man stuttered and stammered as he flipped through the pages on his clipboard. After some shuffling of his feet and a lot more paper flipping, the man found what he was looking for. He grabbed for the pen that was dangling down from the clipboard, attached by a short length of string and some duct tape.

"Yes...," the man declared, "we do need another mechanic. Can start the day after tomorrow. What's your name."

"Daryl." When the man continued to stare at Daryl it became obvious to him that the man required more information. "Dixon," Daryl added. At the sound of his last name, Jean's head snapped towards him. She sucked in her bottom lip and started nibbling on it as she stared at Daryl like she was tying to do long division in her head. "What?," Daryl asked her. She shook her head and muttered under her breath that it was nothing.

"Come on," she said, clearly eager to change the subject, "I'll show you where the garage is."

Jean led the way, noticing again that Daryl had a habit of keeping a few steps behind her. She wiped her clammy palms against her thighs and rubbed her hands together, letting the friction dry them the rest of the way. Dixon was probably as common a name down south as Smith or Anderson. Just because she knew someone once with that name didn't mean that it had anything to do with Daryl. She refused to consider any other possibility.

Jean took a deep breath and blew it out through her pursed lips. She had a little game she liked to play with herself when there was something on her mind that she didn't want to think about. It had helped her to fall asleep many times since the end of the world. She thought back and tried to remember something specific from the past. This time she settled on what sort of birthday parties she had for each one of her girls. When Rose turned one, Jean had a barnyard animal themed party for her. There had been little cupcakes that were decorated up to look like cows and pigs and chickens. Jean had to have the party at her Aunt's house because her father said he wasn't going to celebrate the birth of her bastard in his house.

Pulled abruptly from her memories, Jean stopped and spun halfway around. She had suddenly become aware that she didn't hear Daryl's footsteps behind her. While she hadn't specifically been given the job of being his keeper, she knew if she lost him she was likely going to be in a world of knee deep shit that she did not want any part of. Before she even got all the way turned around, Daryl slammed into her. His chin knocked into her forehead painfully and Jean staggered back a step.

Daryl didn't think before he reacted. He put his hands on Jean's arms to steady her. As they walked he had been consumed with his own thoughts, which mainly involved making himself think about how he was going to get out of this place to stop himself from thinking about the woman walking in front of him. He had been staring down at his feet to avoid looking at her since all her seemed to be able to stare at was the way her jeans hugged her curves in all the right places. That and the spot where her shirt hung down in back, revealing the strap of her black lace bra. He was glad she wasn't blonde. Blonde made him think of Beth. Just another dead girl in the long line of deaths that Daryl could have prevented and didn't.

"Y'alright?," Daryl asked her. Jean's hand lifted up to feel at the small swelling bump on the side of her forehead. She stared up at him. In the dim flickering florescent lights, her warm brown eyes looked almost black. Daryl didn't realize that his hands had moved down her arms and wrapped around her waist until he felt her pushing back against his chest.

"I'm fine," she said. She had been saying it so long it just came naturally. But the truth was she was anything but fine. Her encounter with Simon earlier had left her doubting herself. And the mention of Daryl's last name had drug up some painful memories that she would have rather left buried down deep inside of her. Not to mention that he had startled the shit out of her when he slammed into her. And hurt her head. Suddenly Jean had found herself being held in his arms. She had been right about them being meant for holding. Part of his face was hidden. But behind the curtain of his hair she could see how intensely blue his eyes were.

"I'm fine," she repeated, more to convince herself than to convince Daryl. Jean took a step back, noticing that the moment she showed any physical resistance to his touch that Daryl had released her immediately. He let go of her waist, his hand lifting up to cup the side of her head. After rubbing his calloused thumb over the bump that was forming on her head he pulled his hand away and lowered his eyes to stare down at his boots again.

Daryl thought she might say something to him. Maybe tell him to keep his filthy fucking murdering hands off her. But Jean just stood there staring at him. The way she lifted her delicate wrist to press her fingers to the bump on her head reminded him of a wounded baby bird. So small and fragile that if he squeezed to hard he might break her. After another moment of thick silence, Jean turned on her heel and started walking at a more brisk pace than she had been before.

One more left turn and a set of stairs led them outside into the sunlight. Daryl spotted a row of motorcycles, his bike among them. He stopped following Jean. Staring at the bikes he gave a moment of consideration to what his chances were of getting away if he made a run for it now. He must have been staring for longer than he thought because suddenly Jean was at his side, tugging gently at the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

"You'd make it about ten paces outside this place before they gunned you down," Jean said, speaking in a hushed tone that suggested other people might be listening. "That's been tried before and by someone a lot faster than you." Plus he would get her into deep shit with Negan. But since Jean wasn't sure Daryl cared she didn't bother to mention that little detail. Jean tugged at his shirt again. "Come on," she urged, "Garage is this way."

The man who ran the garage seemed nice enough as far as Saviors went. He was tall gangly young black man that reminded Daryl a bit of Noah except he was a few years older and his name was Mike. Daryl's other coworker was a woman. She had long blonde hair that was tied back in a low bun and a tattoo on the side of her neck. Mike led him and Jean around the garage, pointing out projects that were being worked on. While Daryl still wasn't happy to be a captive in this place, working on engines sounded a lot better than being locked up naked in a closet. If he had to be a prisoner here, he figured it might not be so bad to bide his time doing something that he enjoyed.

In typical female fashion, Jean looked rather bored with the tour. Until they skirted around car that was up on a lift and a large supply truck came into view. The truck had a very detailed picture of Negan's barbed wire bat spray painted graffiti style on the side of it. Jean's body tensed up.

"How long has the west 8 outpost crew been here?," she asked. It was obvious that Jean was trying to control her tone and facial expressions. But Daryl could tell by the change in her body language that she was seriously disturbed by the sight of that particular truck.

"Came in late last night," Mike told her, "they weren't due until next week... heard they spotted a new camp or something and wanted to talk to the boss man 'bout it." Jean nodded. She was already stepping backwards towards the exit when she made her excuses to Mike.

"Going to have to finish the tour later," she told him, "I forgot I have to pick up my girls from the kitchen." Mike nodded and gave Jean a little wave before she turned on her heel and started rushing for the door. Daryl nodded back at the man before he turned and started chasing after the woman. She kept it to a brisk walk while they were inside the garage but once they were back in the dimly lit hallways inside the Sanctuary she increased her speed. Daryl had to jog to keep up with her. They took a different route back from the one they had used to get to the garage. Daryl didn't have time to commit this one to memory but he assumed it was the most direct route back to the kitchen. Before they even reached the door, Jean was calling out for her daughters.

"Rose! Lily!," she hollered. When Jean rushed into the kitchen and saw that her daughters were no where to be seen Daryl could see the panic in her eyes. "Where are my girls?," Jean demanded of the woman that had arrived to collect them earlier that morning.

"I sent them down to get some eggs," the woman answered, her confusion at Jean's sudden state of panic showing plainly on her face. Jean didn't offer the woman any explanation. She simply turned and ran from the kitchen. Daryl followed her, unsure of what else he ought to be doing to help. He had already guessed that Jean's sudden panic to find her girls had something to do with the truck she had spotted in the garage.

Daryl's boots clanged on the metal staircase. Outside the sun was shining brighter than it had been on their walk to the garage. While the saviors took most of what they needed to survive from other groups, they did grow some of their own vegetables and raised their own chickens for fresh eggs like the ones that Daryl had eaten for breakfast that morning. Jean yelled for her girls again, calling them both by name. Two brown heads popped up, both the girls looking suprised at their mother's panicked tone. Her older daughter was reaching inside one of the hen houses, handing eggs out to Jean's younger daughter to be placed in a basket.

"What's wrong mom?," Rose asked. Jean ignored the question, pulling her younger daughter into her arms and hugging her until the girl protested and demanded to be let go before Jean broke the eggs she was gathering. Jean hugged her older daughter next, pulling the girl against her. "Mom," Rose asked again, "What's wrong?"

"I went to the kitchen to look for you," Jean told the girl, "and I guess I got scared when I saw you weren't there." Daryl knew that was a lie. Jean had been scared long before she got to the kitchen. His concern over the situation was growing despite the little voice in the back of his mind that kept telling him he didn't care and this woman's problems were none of his business. Daryl didn't like to see a mother scared for the safety of her children.


	6. Chapter 6

Between the Thorns

Chapter 6

Unlike when they had passed through the mostly empty cafeteria area earlier in the day, this time the place was teeming with warm bodies. Just the small amount of strangers he had come into contact with in Alexandria had been enough to make Daryl nervous. So being shoulder to shoulder with what he guessed had to be close to a hundred of them had the man grinding his molars as his hands began to clench into fists at his sides.

Daryl took a deep breath. His empty stomach was already grumbling. The promise of a solid meal hung heavy in the air around him. He prepared himself mentally. Being close to people was just the price he was going to have to pay a full belly. He had paid worse prices before. Looking around, he did his best to convince himself that this wasn't going to be so bad.

Considering how many people were gathered into the small space, the crowd was calm and orderly enough. The only show of violence Daryl saw was two men arguing at a table. When it looked like the arguement was about to turn physical, an armed man walked over from his post near the doorway and showed the men a the large semi automatic weapon in his hands. Both the men sat down and lowered their voices without further incident.

It was impossible to observe Negan's home base without making comparisons to the town Daryl had come from. Rick was a good leader. But he only ruled over a small group of people that considered both him and each other family. As Daryl observed the crowd full of rough looking men, he couldn't help but wonder if his friend would be able to keep such a large group in line without resorting to Negan's violent dictatorship style of governing.

As they began to weave though the crowded room, Jean reached behind her, taking hold of her younger daughter's hand. Without being told, the younger girl reached behind her and grapsed hands with her older sister. Then Rose reached for him. Daryl stared down at the girl's open hand. When he didn't grab for it she twisted her body to stare back at him. Rose raised her eyebrows and thumped him in the chest with the back of her hand.

"So we don't get separated," the girl explained, her tone revealing a touch of impatience. She held her hand in front of Daryl, her blue eyes narrowed with the seriousness she felt the situation required. "It's part of the rules," she urged.

Daryl nodded his head and took her hand. He didn't feel he had much of a choice in the matter. Her hand was small and warm in his, the skin soft except for a callous that was forming near the top of her hand where her palm met her fingers. On a few of her nails there was a tiny bit of chipped pink nail polish left over from the last time they had been painted. The girl's hair hung down from either side of her head, twisted into two thick braids that swung as she walked. Unlike her younger sister, Rose was at the awkward stage where she wasn't really a little girl anymore but not really a woman yet either. Her legs looked a too long and thin for her body and from the short hem of her jeans, Daryl guessed that her growth spurt had happened recently.

As he weaved through the maze of tables and bodies, Daryl was grateful for the girl's warm hand to lead him. A few people stared curiously at him, mostly looking like they were trying to figure out what he was doing with Jean and her daughters. But the onslaught of harrassment that he was bracing himself for never happened.

The place was set up similarly to a school cafeteria. They waited in a short line, grabbed hard plastic meal trays and prepared to ask for what they wanted from a woman that was standing behind a large steel counter full of steam trays. The armed guards were the only obvious difference. But even they seemed to only be interested in maintaining order, not in intimidating people. Daryl recognized one of them, the blonde woman with the tattoo on her neck that he was going to be working with in the garage. She smiled and ticked her chin up to greet him when he walked by.

"You start day after tomorrow?," she asked. Daryl nodded his head, unable to stop and speak to her even if he wanted to since Jean's daughter was still dragging him along like a naughty dog on a leash. "I'll buy you lunch," the woman called after him. This was met by some friendly laughter by the people around them. Even Jean looked back and smiled, shaking her head at the woman. Daryl didn't ask, but it was obvious that everyone was laughing at some sort of inside joke that he didn't understand. His focus was on the food.

"What do you want?," Jean asked him once they made it through the tangled up line. She gestured towards the woman that was holding a plate and staring at him like he was wasting her time. Daryl took a look at his choices. He couldn't remember the last time he had a choice in what he wanted to eat and he was feeling rather overwhelmed, wanting everything he could see and smell.

Before he had a chance to make his decision a strange hush fell over the formerly rowdy cafeteria. For a moment it looked like people were making a wave, the way they used to do at professional sporting events. Except no one got back up. The people around him were all dropping to one knee. Jean's daughter still had a hold on his hand and she yanked it hard, pulling him to the ground next to her.

Daryl heard the man's heavy tread before he saw him. Negan sauntered into the room, followed closely by Daryl's second most hated person in just about the whole world. Dwight had tortured him. Fed him dog food. Humiliated him in every possible way. Daryl wanted nothing more than to slam his fists into that man's face one after the other until his head split open like and overripe melon. But that would have to wait for another day. For the moment Daryl simply hoped the two men might just pass him by. But he wasn't that lucky.

Rose leaned a little closer to him, hoping to hide her smaller body partly behind Daryl's. He felt her grip on his hand tighten. Daryl was looking down, his hair covering his face. The only thing in his line of vision was the toe of Negan's shiny black boot.

"Well what the fuck do we have here?," the man hollered out. Next to him Daryl noticed that Jean's body stiffened up more than it already had. She didn't like the big man swearing in front of her children. But she knew better than to say anything about it. Negan lifted his hand and patted Dwight on the shoulder, much harder than necessary. Then he pointed to Daryl.

"You took weeks and you still couldn't get this fucker to kneel," Negan told Dwight, "A ten year old did it in 30 damn seconds!" Before she could stop her, Jean's younger daughter reached out and tugged on the big man's pant leg. Jean pulled the girl's arm back and scolded Lily under her breath.

"Got something to say there pipsqueak?," Negan asked the girl. He leaned down and offered the girl his hand. Jean knew better than to tell her not to take it so she nudged the girl forward. Lily placed her tiny hand in Negan's giant one and allowed the man to help her to her feet. "What did you want to tell me?," he asked.

"I'm ten," Lily informed the man before she pointed to her older sister, "Rose is twelve and a half." Daryl stayed quiet, but he could see the horrified look on Rose's face. No one questioned Negan. And no one corrected him either. Daryl moved before he thought out the possible consequences of his actions, placing his arm around the shoulders of Jean's older girl. Images of Glenn's bloody smashed in head flashed through his mind as Negan brought his bat down from the shoulder of his leather jacket. Daryl couldn't watch something like that happen again. Especially not to a child. But all Negan did was laugh.

"Well I'll be damned," the big man declared, "I must have missed your birthday." He held out his bat for the girl to take. "How would you like to hold Lucille for me?" Lily glanced back at her mother. Jean's face had gone pale white but she forced out a grin despite her obvious discomfort.

Since her mother hadn't objected, Lily stepped forward and grabbed for the bat. It was heavier than she expected and she almost dropped it. Negan moved her hands, adjusting her hold on the weapon.

"We got us a little serial killer in the making here!," he quipped. Since she looked about ready to drop the heavy bat on his feet, Negan took it back from the girl. He motioned to Dwight. "Take the girls into the kitchen and give them a piece of that chocolate cake I asked for earlier," he told the man.

"Say thank you," Jean hissed at her daughters. Rose said the words quietly, still gripping Daryl's hand even though she had climbed to her feet. But Lily was more than happy to express her gratitude to the man. She wrapped her slim arms around Negan's waist and hugged him. The man was surprisingly gentle with her. He hugged her back and patted her head before pointing her towards the kitchen. Once Dwight disappeared into the kitchen with the two girls, Negan turned around and hollered "AS YOU WERE!," to the large crowd of people still kneeling behind him. This seemed to signal that he was done having them grovel for him since everyone quickly resumed whatever activities they had been partaking in before their leader walked in. The volume of the room was still signficantly lower than it was before.

Jean climbed to her feet, swiping at a stray strand of hair that was tickling her eye. "I'm so sorry about Lily," she started to say. Negan waved his hand at her dismissively before she could even finish her apology. Then he glanced back and forth between her and Daryl a few times. She didn't like the look Negan had on his face. There was something brewing in his mind. Jean knew the big man well enough to know that was never a good thing.

"Their dinners are on me tonight," Negan told the woman behind the counter. She bobbed her head up and down a few more times than was necessary. "And get the kids whatever the fuck they want," he added, gesturing towards the kitchen with his bat.

"Thank you," Jean said, the fake smile still plastered on her face, "You didn't have to do that."

Negan laughed. Daryl didn't know how it was possible but the man's happy face was even more unsettling than his angry face. He was still halfway convinced that this was all some sort of fucked up mind game. Instead of dinner Negan was going to have Dwight drag him back down to that tiny freezing hole and lock him up until he actually died this time.

"How's my boy Daryl here treating you?," Negan asked Jean. He patted Daryl on the back much like he had done to Dwight except he didn't add the extra force he had used on the other man. Something was off there. Between Negan and Dwight. There were cracks in the system. Daryl just needed to watch for them.

Jean thought about the question before she answered it. She wasn't really sure what to say. While she wasn't exactly ecstatic about her current situation, things could always be worse. She didn't really know or trust him yet, but Daryl seemed nice enough. He hadn't tried anything physical or aggressive with her yet and there had been plenty of times that he could have. When they were alone in the halls down by the garage. When he was alone with her and her daughters in her apartment. He hadn't so much as laid a hand on her. In fact he had barely even looked at her.

She preferred letting Daryl live with her over being forced into a marriage she didn't want. And there was also that little something else. Jean told herself she didn't care and that Daryl wasn't her problem, but the truth was she was worried about what might happen to the man if she pitched a fit and refused to let him stay with her. Even though he had a hand in her husband's death she didn't want Daryl to be hurt or tortured any more than he already had been. All the pain and suffering and justice in the world wouldn't bring John back.

"He's fine," Jean said. Nean grinned. Jean forced herself to smile back at him. She could tell the big man was looking to get a rise out of her and she absolutely refused to take his bait. He had put Daryl in her apartment to hurt her. To make her upset and angry. Just to show him that his punishment wasn't going to break her, Jean added, "The girls seem to like him. You were right. It's a good fit." Since Negan could hardly argue with being told he was right he simply laughed some more and made a crude joke out of what Jean had said.

"I bet it's a real _GOOD FIT,_ " he hollered. Aside from Jean and Daryl, everyone around Negan laughed. Some seemed like they actually thought it was funny while others forced laughter because they could tell Negan expected it. Jean's face turned about four different shades of red. Seeing that he had embarassed her only served to spur the big man on with his crude humor. He leaned down like he was telling Daryl a secret but he still spoke loud enough to make sure Jean and everyone else around heard him.

"You'd think you woudn't have a chance with a woman after you killed her husband. But you'd be surprised..." Negan stopped to laugh at another one of his own jokes, letting his eyes travel up and down the length of Jean's body before he went on. "Widows, especially ones that look like Jean here. They are _very_ special. After their husbands die they get all empty inside... but usually not for long."

Negan gave Daryl one more slap on the back before he strolled off. There was no reason for him to stay. He had already gotten what he wanted from the couple. More than what he wanted in fact. Negan had thrown Jean and Daryl together mostly as punishment for her. He didn't like being refused. And more than that he didn't like Jean running around the Sanctuary all independent. Acting like she didn't need a man. It gave the other women ideas. Bad ones. So he figured he would make her put up with Daryl for as long as it took her to beg him to take the man away. Or beg to live with him or Simon instead.

Daryl had been an easy choice. He was rough around the edges but it seemed unlikely that he would actually hurt Jean or her girls. And nothing Dwight had done so far to the man had worked. Not only had Dwight not been able break Daryl, it didn't seem like he had even scratched the surface. So Negan figured throwing Daryl in with Jean couldn't make things any worse. Daryl hadn't responded to torture. He wasn't that type of man. So instead of forcing him to submit, Negan thought he might give the man a taste of the good life instead. Buy his loyalty instead of demanding it.

Negan intended for the situation to be temporary. But then something magical had happened. He saw that shit right there on Daryl's face. Jean was getting upset about the crude jokes he was making about her poor dead husband. Her big pretty brown eyes were filling up with tears. She was fucking hot she was hot even when she was about to cry. That was a rare trait. Most women looked like they needed a mop for their faces once they started whining and blubbering. And Daryl hadn't liked seeing her upset. Not one little tiny bit. He even looked a little like he was thinking about putting his arms around her. Offering Jean the kind of comfort that Negan had been thinking about giving the woman the day before on the massage table in her salon.

Negan realized he had been blind to the type of man Daryl was. He had taken him to be just another tough guy that needed a little fear of the reigning authority put into him. Now that he saw the man with Jean, Negan realized he had been stupid not to see it before. That's why Daryl had struck out at Negan in the first place and gotten his friend killed. Daryl didn't fight back because his own safety was threatened. He fought because he couldn't stand to see Negan making that hispanic woman cry. Not being able to tolerate seeing other people in pain was Daryl's weakness. And discovering someone's weakness was always a beautiful thing.


	7. Chapter 7

Between the Thorns

Chapter 7

Jean forced herself to eat. She asked for soup since it seemed like it might be the thing least likely to get caught in the thickness of her throat. The soup actually smelled good. Like ham and onion and whatever herbs that had been used to flavor it. But like everything she had eaten since her husband died, the beans just turned to sand in her mouth. Jean felt like it took her hours to chew the little bits of meat that were mixed in and when she swallowed them it felt like tiny rocks sliding down into her stomach.

Two weeks ago Jean fainted in her apartment. It frightened her daughters and cost her more points than she really had to waste for the iron pills that the doctor insisted she needed to start taking. She knew she had to be strong for her girls. And that meant eating. At least breakfast and dinner. Sometimes she skipped lunch in favor of a strong cup of coffee. But that had been a bad habit of hers even back before the turn. John used to try and make time to take her out to lunch at least once a week. Or sometimes he would order takeout and have it delivered to her at work. To make sure she was eating. Just one of the many little things she missed about him.

Negan's comment about her being empty inside is what really hurt. Jean didn't really care about the sex jokes. They were disgusting. She didn't enjoy crude comments about the size of her vagina being made but they hadn't felt like a knife stabbing straight into her heart. She felt like an empty shell of the person she used to be. And up until that moment she thought she had been doing a good job of hiding it. Jean thought people believed the brave face she had been putting on for them. For her girls. She waited until her daughters were asleep in their beds at night. She waited until she was completely alone. Then she cried herself to sleep. Every night for the last month. She kept waiting for the morning when she would wake up feeling better. But it never came. If she didn't have her girls to live for she would have slit her wrists by now. What hurt is that Negan knew that. Everyone knew it. She hadn't managed to hide her weakness from anyone.

"Gonna eat that?," Daryl asked. Jean's head snapped up. For a moment she looked at him like she had no idea who he was or how he got there. Then Jean dropped her spoon back into her bowl and pushed her whole tray across the table towards Daryl. She was torn between being grateful that he was so willing to finish her food so that it didn't go to waste and thinking that having Daryl around was going to make it that much harder for her to force herself to eat when she would rather curl up into a ball and sleep.

"Here mommy," Lily said as she handed her half full glass of milk towards the woman, "You can have the rest of my milk." Jean gave the girl a halfhearted smile. They didn't have any cows at the Sanctuary. There wasn't room for it. Unlike cheese that stayed good as it aged, milk had a tendency to sour. So fresh milk was considered a luxury. The girls only had glasses of it because Dwight had taken it from the kitchen and given it to them. A kind gesture of the type that had become less and less common from the man.

Jean didn't know what to think about Dwight. She and her husband had been close with him and Sherry back before everything went down between them and Negan. Dwight, Sherry, and Sherry's sister used to come over and visit with Jean while John was away. Dwight taught her girls how to play a hundred different card games. He was a good man. Until Negan burnt his face and started fucking his wife.

Now Jean wasn't sure how she felt about him. Dwight had taken on a whole new persona. One that didn't suit him. It was like he was walking around in someone else's burnt skin. Jean put on a fake smile to hide how empty she felt inside. She tried to fill the void by concentrating on her daughters. Dwight filled the hole inside himself by being cruel to others. Making them feel as bad as he felt. Jean didn't like it. And she was sure the man would end up deeply regretting his actions. In this life or the next.

"Thanks sweetie," Jean said, taking the glass from her daughter. The milk went down easier than the soup had. She was grateful to have something filling her belly and hoped that having something to eat might help her to sleep better. Maybe that small bit of comfort might hold off the nightmares that had been haunting her since the day Negan had knocked on the door to her apartment and told her John wasn't going to be coming home. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.

Daryl watched her while they ate. It was easy because she didn't look up much. Jean had her elbow up on the table, the side of her forehead resting on the base of her palm. Like she couldn't even hold her head up without help. Watching her eat was painful. She swallowed every bite like there was a hard lump in her throat. After watching her for what felt like hours, Daryl couldn't stand it anymore. He offered to take her food from her and eat it himself even though his stomach felt like it was already about to burst from taking in so much food at the same time.

His palm still hurt. And Daryl knew if he looked at it there would be four little moonshaped indentations where his fingernails cut into the meat of his hand. That was how much self control it took him not to punch Negan in his stupid laughing face for the second time. He hadn't liked the man's jokes. But what really pissed him off was how the man ignored the broken wounded look on Jean's face and kept right on laughing at her.

Daryl had never been good with words. He missed every one that he had lost, but in that moment Daryl felt the loss of Hershel Greene more keenly than the rest. Hershel always knew the right thing to say. Even when the situation was hopeless and terrible. The man had been a great comfort to Daryl after he lost his brother. Daryl wished Hershel was here now to comfort Jean and her girls. Instead she was stuck with him. A man that didn't even speak up to defend her when it was implied that she was nothing more than a hole to fill.

The table rocked a little to the left, pulling both Daryl and Jean out of whatever personal thoughts they had become lost in. A man Daryl didn't recognize had slapped his meaty palms down on the surface of the table and was staring at Jean's older daughter with an unsettling smile on his face. Daryl noticed the change in Jean's body posture immediately. She was no longer the frail broken woman that couldn't even swallow her food without gagging on it. Instead she reminded him of a mother bear. Fierce and ready to protect her cubs.

"Jus' wanted to tell you I was real sorry to hear 'bout what happened to yer pop," the man drawled. He was short but stocky. And dirtier than the rest of the people around him. There was a filthy ring of dirt around the collar of his shirt. It was the end of the world. Showers and baths were not always the first priority. Daryl understood that. But when water was readily available for bathing most people chose to take advantage of it. This man clearly did not. A thick pair of glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose that made his beady eyes appear larger than they were. He was licking his lips as he started at Jean's daughters. There was something in his eyes that led to the assumtion that he wasn't quite right in the head.

"Get away from my girls," Jean hollered at the man. She rose to her feet and pointed in the direction she expected the man to take. Which at the moment was any direction that led him away from her. When the man didn't move Jean spoke to her girls instead. "Rose. Lily. Get up, we are leaving NOW." Daryl took that as a signal. He got to his feet as well, bumping the table and spilling the bowl that contained the rest of Jean's soup onto the plastic tray she had been using.

"Your hair looks real pretty like that," the man told Jean's older daughter, ignoring the woman's loud request that he remove himself from her presence. If speaking to the girl after her mother told time to leave wasn't bad enough the man reached one fat meaty paw over and lifted one of Rose's long braids of hair up between his fingers. The girl jerked away from him, pulling her own hair hard enough that she yelped in pain.

Daryl clenched his fists. He might have to take crap from Negan. And Dwight. But he didn't have to take any from this fat pervert. He was already charging forward when he felt a hand settle flat against his chest. The hand belonged to the blonde woman from the mechanic garage. She shook her head at him before turning to deal with the man that was harassing Jean and her girls.

"Move it the fuck along Larry," she hollered. Placing herself between the man and Jean's older girl, the woman prodded the stocky man with the butt of her gun when he didn't back up fast enough. "You've been told before," she reminded the man.

"Was jus' talking to 'er," the man protested.

"She ain't old enough for you to be talking to her," the blonde woman hollered, driving the butt of her gun into the man's gut hard enough to make the air woof out of his lungs. "You've been warned about that shit before," she added. By this time a few men at the surrounding tables had stood up and were voicing their irritation with the man. _Fuckin' pervert! Better stay the fuck away from her daughters and mine! This guy needs his fuckin' ass kicked!_

A few of the other armed guards stepped in to back the blonde woman up. It was unclear to Daryl if they were concerned for Jean and her girls or if they just didn't want a huge fight breaking out. Either way Larry was not so gently encouraged to remove himself from the cafeteria. Daryl was unsure of how he should feel about what happened. He had convinced himself that he was surrounded by animals and murderers. But he was quickly coming to the realization that the people here were just like people anywhere. Some were assholes but most of the rest of them were alright.

"Y'all alright?," the blonde woman asked, turning back towards Jean and her daughters. Jean had gathered the girls into her arms. Her younger daughter's face was buried into her mother's side.

"We're okay," Jean assured the woman before thanking her. "Thank you Laura."

Laura motioned to another guard before pointing to the mess on the table. "Clean that up," she told the man, "I'm going to take them home." Daryl expected the man to object at being given such a menial task but he simply swung his gun onto his back and began to gather up the used dishes together. Jean and her girls were quickly whisked from the cafeteria. They headed for their apartment in a hurry. Daryl ended up walking with the blonde woman from the garage who he now knew had a name, Laura. She wasn't really pretty or ugly. Just an average looking woman with dark blonde hair and a silver ring through one side of her nose. She was a little on the muscular side for a girl but other than that nothing about her stood out.

"John should have shot that guy," she mumbled under her breath. Daryl glanced towards the blonde woman, hoping she might elaborate on her statement. After a moment she did. "Somehow people found out that Jean's older girl wasn't her husband's actual daughter," Laura explained quietly. "She had Rose before they met and they had Lily together. Not really a big deal. Until Larry tried to buy her. Said that if John wanted to get rid of the kid he would take her off his hands." The woman paused and glanced at Daryl to gauge his reaction. He looked sufficiently disgusted with the story so Laura continued on. "John beat his ass and got him sent out to the west outpost. Larry creeped people out anyway so most were happy to see him go. Guess he's holding a grudge."


	8. Chapter 8

Between the Thorns

Chapter 8

Daryl sat quietly on the sofa. He tried not to stare at them but as he watched Jean get her daughters ready for bed he found himself comforted by the simple normality of their routine. It reminded him of when he used to watch Carol give Judith her nigthtime bath back at the prison. An intense but momentary pang of lonliness washed over him. Daryl longed for his prison family and Carol in particular. Nothing sexual or romatic had ever gone on between them but he cared for her all the same. She had a soothing presence. Daryl swiped his hair from his face and tried not to dwell too long on the possibility of whether or not he would ever see the woman again.

The girls changed into pajamas. Rose took her braids out and brushed her own thick mane of curly hair while Jean did the same for the girl's younger sister. Lily had dark brown hair that was finer and thinner than her older sister's. She looked more like her mother in the face than the older girl did.

Both girls had been wearing pigtails. Now they each had one long french braid hanging down in the middle of their backs. The younger of the two was dressed in a pink princess nightgown and a pair of white tube socks with a hole in the big toe area of the right one. The older girl wore a men's button down flannel shirt that was oversized enough to cover her to the middle of her thin thighs. Her feet were bare and she had chipped pink nail polish on her toenails. Once Rose got done brushing her teeth to her mother's satisfaction she rinsed her mouth out and spit into a large bucket that Daryl guessed was kept there for that purpose. The girl started padding off towards the one part of the apartment Daryl hadn't been in yet. He assumed it was the bedroom she shared with her sister.

"Rose," Jean said, calling the girl back to her and pointing her towards the bedroom Daryl had woken up in that morning. The girl huffed and rolled her eyes but eventually trudged off in the direction her mother had indicated.

"Are we all sleeping in your bed mommy?," Lily asked. Jean plastered a big fake smile on her face.

"I thought it might be fun to have a sleepover," she lied. The truth was she didn't know Daryl well enough to trust him yet. That in combination with still being shaken up by what happened in the cafeteria made Jean certain that she would sleep better if she knew her girls were close. More often than not she felt like a mother hen making sure all her chicks were in the nest.

After both Jean's daughters had made their way into her bedroom she disappeared into their room and returned with a pillow and a blanket for Daryl. He hopped up quickly to take them from her. As she handed him the bedding his hand touched hers. Jean lingered there, allowing the tips of his fingers to graze over her hand for a few seconds longer than was necessary. Her eyelids were already drooping, the stress of the day had taken it's toll on her. Daryl nodded his thanks and stepped back. Jean was wearing her own version of pajamas. A large well worn men's t-shirt and boxers that Daryl assumed had belonged to her late husband. He had a hard time not staring at her bare legs when she turned away from him and headed for her room. The muscles of her calves were firm and round, tapering to thin ankles that were as delicate as her wrists.

"We don't leave the apartment at night," Jean said, stopping in the doorway to look back at him. She pointed to the bucket her daughters had been spitting in like tiny camels while they brushed their teeth. "So if you need to go just use the bucket." Daryl nodded, wishing like he had during dinner that he could think of something to say to her. He was hopelessly awkward when it came to dealing with women, always had been. The only time he ever got laid was if Merle brought two drunk whores home from the bar instead of one.

"Night," he finally mumbled. Jean nodded and rubbed at her eyes before following her girls into the bedroom and swing the door shut behind her. Daryl heard the muffled scrape of wood on wood. Then the soft thud of something heavy being pushed up against the inside of the bedroom door. There wasn't much furniture in the bedroom so he guessed what he heard was Jean taking the chair she had laid his clothes out on earlier and using it to brace the door shut from the inside.

Daryl wasn't offended by Jean's lack of trust. On the contrary he found the way she did her best to keep her girls safe endearing. And he was reminded of his own childhood. His mother had never had the good sense to lock his father out of the house when he was drunk. But more than a few times Daryl had woken up in bed to the sight of Merle sleeping in a ratty old easy chair that he was using to keep their bedroom door shut.

One bright lamp was still lit. Daryl rose from the couch and clicked it off. When he did he noticed that a small glow was coming from the girl's room. He smiled, assuming the light was coming from some sort of small nightlight that Jean had put in there for her girls to keep them from being scared of the dark. Daryl was grateful for the soft glow. He had been alone in the dark for a long time. The glow helped to remind him that he wasn't back down inside that horrible icebox of a closet.

Daryl checked the door the apartment, making sure it was securely locked from the inside. Then he stalked silently around the place, obsessively checking and place where he thought there might be enoungh room for someone to hide. He found a serrated steak knife in a bin of clean dishes that he palmed. Alive or undead, everyone was a possible threat. After completing his security checks, Daryl felt secure enough to get a little more comfortable. He slid his boots off. Not his pants even though the metal snap was rubbing against his stomach. Only his boots.

The couch was lumpy but infinitely better than cold unyeilding cement to sleep on. Daryl placed the pillow Jean had given him against the far end of the couch, so that he was facing the door. He slipped the steak knife underneath. The blanket Jean had given him was pink and purple with a cartoon character on it he didn't recognize, an overly happy mexican girl with a head that was shaped like a football. Despite its unmanly appearance the blanket was plush and warmer than it felt like it was going to be. As Daryl nestled down into the uneven cushions he felt something hard and lumpy pressing into his hip. A quick investigation into his own pocket revealed that the hard lump there was from the handful of lollipops he had stolen from the treat bucket in Jean's salon earlier.

Daryl felt a little guily for taking the treats. But not guilty enough to give them back. He silently unwrapped the first one and slipped it into his mouth, enjoying the overly sweet taste as he listened to the soft whispering murmurs coming from behind Jean's closed bedroom door. He couldn't make out every word but he could hear enough to know she was either reading or telling her girls some sort of bedtime story.

Desite the fact that Daryl had felt safe enough to remove his boots, he was still afraid to let himself fall asleep. He managed to keep his eyes open for a little while, eating the candy he stols slowly. But he had been sleep deprived for far too long. Only a few seconds after he wrapped the wrapper around the sticky remains of the last lollipop and crammed it into his pocket Daryl's heavy eyes blinked shut, thrusting him into oblivion.

He might have been asleep for hours. Or maybe only a few seconds. Either way Daryl woke with a start. Someone was leaning over him. He didn't open his eyes to see who it was, choosing instead to fake sleep and hope that he might be able to take his would be attacker by surprise. The person was sneaky and quiet. Daryl would give the bastard that. The only sounds of the person retreating were a soft rush of air and a few quiet shuffles against the floor. The next sound Daryl heard was the quiet groan of a dining chair as someone put their weight on it. But the noise that sent him flying off the sofa was the crinkle of a synthetic wrapper. Later he would find himself completely unable to articulate what had scared him so badly. But in that moment he was sure that he was about to be sexually assaulted, the one and only form of humiliation and torture that hadn't yet been used on him while he was Negan's prisoner.

Jean stepped down from the dining chair. She only just got both her bare feet on the floor when she was grabbed roughly from behind. Her body met the wall opposite her with alarming force. The air woofed out of her lungs. Her arm was twisted painfully behind her back, making little black spots swim in front of her eyes. Once she was able to suck in a breath of air she began to cry.

"You're going to break my arm," she sobbed, trying to keep her voice quiet because despite the severity of the situation she didn't want to wake her girls up and frighten them, "Please let go." Her arm was released from the awkward position it was being held in. She felt the blood rush back into her hand as she was whipped around to face the person that had been holding it.

"Planning to slit my throat while I slept," Daryl hissed into her face. He had released his grip on her arm but moved his hand to grip her by the throat instead. Thankfully he wasn't squeezing down. Not yet anyway. His body was flush against hers, one of his large feet positioned between her two smaller ones. Their foreheads were touching and his breath smelled like lemon lime candy.

"No," Jean whispered.

"What the fuck were ya doin' sneakin' around in here then?," Daryl hissed. She could tell some of the fear and anger was draining out of him now. But he wasn't ready to let her go just yet. Jean wasn't sure but she guessed Daryl had possibly been in the middle of some sort of horrible nightmare that he was now taking out on her. She had been terribly frightened at first but now, nightmare or not, she was starting to get a little angry. This man didn't have the right to put his hands on her. All she was trying to do was have a little midnight snack. She hadn't even so much as breathed wrong in Daryl's direction. Well maybe she had breathed on him just a little bit. But she certainly didn't have any intentions of hurting him or slitting his throat.

"I wasn't sneaking around," she spit back, "I fucking live here!" Daryl loosened his grip on her neck, not failing to notice how soft her skin was and how good the taunt cords of her neck felt under his touch. He also realized that he had woken up with a raging erection that was currently pressing hard against Jean's stomach. Her full breasts were crushed between them.

He had the sudden impulse to kiss her. To slip one hand up under the soft cotton shirt she had on and see if her nipples were as hard as they felt against his chest. Daryl didn't act on these urges. To do so would have been wrong in every way. He was a little disgusted at himself for even thinking about it.

"Tell me what you were doin'," Daryl demanded, his tone quieter and more controlled.

"Let me go," Jean ordered, putting extra emphasis on each word. She was not going to answer his question until he got his hand off her throat.

Daryl finally came to his senses. He removed his hands from Jean's body and stepped back. She lifted up the arm he had pinned behind her back and rubbed at her wrist, immediately filling him with guilt and remorse for grabbing her so roughly.

"What were you doing?," Daryl asked again. He knew now it was really none of his business but he still wanted to know why she had been leaning over him while he slept. Jean leaned down and picked up the piece of candy that she had dropped when Daryl grabbed her. She handed it to Daryl for his inspection.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, "I hide candy from my kids and sometimes I come out here at night to eat it, alright?" With that she reached forward and snatched the small square of wrapped chocolate back out of Daryl's hands. It made the same crinkling noise that had startled him when he was lying on the couch with his eyes closed.

"Fuckin' hell," Daryl cursed under his breath. He was feeling like more and more of an ass as each second ticked by. "You were just checkin' to make sure I was asleep?," he asked, knowing already that the answer to his question was yes. Jean nodded. She told herself she was checking to make sure Daryl was asleep because she didn't want him to know where she hid her candy. If her girls found out about it they would eat the whole bag up in five seconds. Then that other thing had happened.

Jean nodded when Daryl asked her if she was just checking to make sure he was asleep. That's what she told herself she was doing when she drifted over towards the sofa instead of heading straight for her candy stash. Daryl's breathing was slow and heavy even though his eyes were moving rapidly under his heavy lids. He looked so peaceful lying there. The contrast between his rugged good looks and the children's blanket he was sleeping under pulled at her heartstrings. Jean's hand reached out for him. Before she really thought through what she was about to do her hand was stroking over the hard muscles of his arm, fingers squeezing just slightly to see if he was as strong as he looked. She should have walked away after that but she didn't.

Jean traced the tip of her finger up the length of his arm and touched his hair. She felt like she was hypnotized by him, unable to stop herself from touching him even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. Jean touched his beard, feeling the difference between the coarseness in the hair on his face and the softness of the hair on his head. She ran the pad of her thumb over his lips, wondering what it might feel like to kiss him. And then she had done something exponentially stupid and probably a little bit creepy too. It felt like an eternity since she had been kissed. So Jean leaned down and pressed her lips to his. Daryl's lips were warm and soft and felt so good against hers that she lingered there longer than she intended. It wasn't until his body twitched that she jumped back, quickly regaining control over herself.

"Lemme see yer wrist," Daryl offered, holding his hand out. To his surprise Jean stuck out the wrist he had twisted behind her back and allowed him to run his fingers over it, probing at the bones and tendons to make sure he hadn't unjured her too badly.

"I'm alright," she assured him.

"M'sorry," Daryl told her. In the dim light of the room her dark brown eyes looked almost black. Her long lashes cast spidery shadows on her cheekbones. His amatuer medical examination was staring to feel more like affection. Her wrist was still in his hand and she hadn't tried to pull away from him yet.

"It's alright," she said, "I'm sorry I scared you." Daryl nodded, not sure what the proper response would be to her unexpected apology. The adrenaline that was still lingering in his body gave him a small burst of bravery. It allowed Daryl to say what he had been wanting to say to her ever since Negan approached them in the cafeteria.

"M'sorry. For what happened earlier," Daryl added quickly before he lost his nerve, "Negan's a damn dick for talking 'bout ya that way." His statement certainly wasn't Hershel quality but Daryl felt good about it anyway. At least he said something.

Jean wanted to thank Daryl for his kind words. But she didn't trust herself to speak. Her throat was thick and she was already blinking back unshed tears. She settled for giving his hand a quick squeeze before turning and hurrying away into her room to muffle her sobs with a pillow. Jean still shut the door to her bedroom. But she no longer felt the need to drag the chair in front of it.


	9. Chapter 9

Between the Thorns

Chapter 9

 ****Nothing is graphically described but there is some implied sexual violence in this chapter that might be upsetting for some people. If you would prefer to skip it and wait for the next update feel free to do so.**

 **Big thanks and love to everyone that left a review.****

Sleep had come quickly the first time around. But after his strange confrontation with Jean, Daryl lay awake in the dim light of the room for what felt like hours. He tried to occupy his mind with other subjects, planning his escape from the sanctuary being the favorite among them. But each time his mind and body started to relax, thoughts of the woman that was lying with her daughters in the next room kept creeping back into the corners of his mind.

He could hear her crying. It was obvious Jean was trying to muffle the noise. But Daryl could still hear her short gasping breaths that came in between the sobs she was trying to muffle with her pillow. He threw the blankets off and swung his legs down off the couch three different times with the intent of going in to check on her. Each time Daryl forced himself back onto the couch by telling himself that whatever problems Jean was having were none of his business. He was escaping this place the first chance he got. After that he would never see Jean again. He couldn't allow himself to get attached to her. Even if she did smell like toothpaste and lavender body lotion and have the softest skin he had ever felt under the calloused tips of his fingers.

Morning came with a jolt. Daryl woke up disoriented, a feeling that was common for him when he slept in a place that didn't have any windows. The lights were on but both bedroom doors were shut, leaving him alone in the living area of the apartment. Daryl's bladder forced him up and off the couch. He headed for the bucket that Jean had indicated was to be used as a makeshift toilet. As his bad luck would have it, just as he was taking his dick out of his pants to do his business Jean walked out of her bedroom. The noise she made sounded like a cross between the yip of a fox and the caw of a frightened bird. The small pile of folded clothing in her hands fell to the floor with a quiet thump.

"I'm so sorry," she gushed, clamping her hand down over her eyes and quickly turning her back to him. The door to the girls room started swinging open and Jean was quick to put her hand out, keeping it from opening the rest of the way. "Hold on a second," she cautioned her daughters. Not only did she not want her girls to embarrass Daryl by walking out on him while he was relieving himself, she didn't want them to see how beet red her face was. She had seen Daryl's body before. When Dwight and some other idiot stooge dragged him into her apartment and dumped him in her bed she had gotten a good look. But seeing him at full attention was a different matter entirely. From just the small glance she had gotten it was obvious that his manhood was as well built as the rest of him.

"Mornin'," Daryl told her. Jean mumbled good morning back to him but it was on the tip of her tounge to say that good god yes it was the best morning ever. Thankfully Daryl finished up rather quickly and tucked himself back into his pants. Jean's daughters were released from the bedroom. A few moments later they were all sitting down at the table together. Jean and Daryl were both trying to pretend the awkward encounter had never happened.

"We only do hot breakfast once or twice a week," Jean explained as she handed Daryl a granola bar. He nodded, noticing with some amusement that her girls both broke their different flavored breakfast bars in half and then split them so that they each had the same thing. Jean didn't make much more conversation except to tell him that the small pile of clothes she had brought from the bedroom were for him if he wanted to change. He didn't. She kept her eyes on the granola bar she was picking at, the color still rising in her cheeks. Her shirt was cut low enough that he could see a hint of her clevage. And the tops of her breasts were just as red as her face. Not that Daryl was looking. He just happened to notice she was looking a little flushed. He told himself to stay away from her. If she was hot, she might be getting sick. And he didn't want to catch a cold from her.

Before they were even done eating the meager breakfast in front of them, there was a knock on the door. Both girls leaped up from the table and started grabbing for their shoes. Jean swung the door open to reveal the same woman that had come for the girls the morning before. Jean stuttered and stammered for a minute, hesitating in the doorway.

"I was going to take the girls to work with me today," she finally told the woman.

Daryl didn't speak up but he could guess Jean's reasons for wanting to keep her daughters close. She was afraid of that creeper that hassled her and the girls the day before. It made him angry and he pushed down the strong urge he had to find the man and beat him into a bloody pulp. Daryl thought her keeping the girls with her was for the best. And though he didn't really want to admit it, he was glad his job didn't start for another day so that he would be with them. Daryl wasn't going to go looking for the man, even though he really wanted to, but if that prick so much as breathed in their direction again he was going to get a fist to the face and a boot up his ass.

"MOM!," Rose complained, eager to protest. "I'm going to lose my points for the day if I go with you!"

"We were supposed to make pasta today!," Lily whined, adding her voice to her sister's loud complaints.

"You know I'll keep an eye on them for you," the woman in the doorway added.

Jean sighed as she looked back and forth between her two girls. She felt torn. At the moment she didn't want to let them out of her sight. But not only did they earn points working in the kitchen, they got to eat for free while they were down there too. That was really the only reason she agreed to let them work in the kitchen in the first place after John died. Feeding two growing girls was a full time job. As a mother, it felt wrong letting them out of her sight. But Jean reminded herself that there was always an armed security guard on duty in or near the kitchen area. So the girls might even be safer there than they would be alone with her.

"For the morning only," Jean finally agreed, "After lunch you have to come to work with me or come back to the apartment." Most of the guys that were on hiatus from the outposts slept in late since they weren't required to work while they were visiting the Sanctuary. So letting the girls go to the kitchen for the morning felt safe enough.

Rose and Lily hugged their mother. Both girls were practically bouncing with excitement. They yanked their shoes on and hurried out the door before Jean could change her mind about letting them go.

TWD

"You might have to sit outside for a while," Jean cautioned, "I have a few people coming in today for massages and I think it might be a little awkward for them if you're in here." Daryl simpy nodded his head. Jean had noticed that he didn't speak unless he had something to say. She had been actively trying to avoid staring at him. Because every time her eyes met his she started blushing all over again. But as she pulled the corners of a clean fitted sheet down over her massage table she watched him out of the corner of her eye. She didn't know how it was possible but he looked even better with his clothes all rumpled up than he had with them freshly laundered.

"You ever had a massage before?," Jean asked. She told herself she was just making conversation. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth she was already thinking about getting her hands on his body again. She sighed at herself, thinking that she was so lonely it was actually quite pathetic. Jean tilted a small glass candle to the side to make it easier to light as she waited for Daryl's response to her question.

"Nuh-uh," he grunted. Daryl had recieved a few massages, but not the type that he figured Jean was talking about. And he had certainly never gone to a spa or a salon or wherever people went to get something other than their dicks massaged. Daryl didn't even really like people touching him, though having Jean rub her gentle hands over him sounded more appealing than he was willing to admit. His back was still sore from the uncomfortable position he had been forced to sleep in while Negan kept him locked up.

Jean smiled at him as she tucked her dark hair back behind her ears. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out an elastic band and started to gather her hair up into a ponytail. When her arms lifted, the shirt she was wearing lifted up to reveal a slice of her stomach. Her jeans hung low enough on her hips that the top corner of a small tattoo was visible. Daryl was fairly certain that it was the top half of a purple and teal butterfly. And he was also sure that he was now going to have the lyrics to that annoying Brad Paisley song Ticks stuck in his head for the rest of the day. Because like the song said he wanted to see the other half of that butterfly tattoo. The best thing Daryl could say about that was at least he wasn't repeating the lyrics to Easy Street over and over again in his mind anymore.

"How much d'people pay fer somethin' like that," Daryl asked, lifing his hand and gesturing towards the massage table.

"First time's always free," Jean quipped. Daryl didn't laugh at her joke, but he did smile. The corners of his mouth turned up just slightly before he broke eye contact with her and started picking at a loose string on his jeans. "I can tell your back is bothering you," Jean added. Her tone was more serious now, the words filled with concern that Daryl was surprised to hear. She sounded genuine. Her words and the fact that she had noticed he was having a problem made him feel warm inside. No one had taken the time to worry about him in as long as he could remember.

When he didn't speak up right away, Jean turned around and began poking through a shelf of lotions to find the one she was looking for. Her face was getting hot again and she felt silly and stupid for offering up a free massage in the first place. Daryl didn't exactly look like the type of man that would want any sort of beauty treatment. She was getting angry at herself for even asking when he finally spoke up.

"I'd like that," he said. His response was like everything he said, simple and to the point. There was no teasing or sexual innuendo in his tone. Jean was so used to the men around the Sanctuary coming on to her. Some of them were more subtle than others but the invitation of a sex was always present in their words and the posture of their bodies when they spoke to her. It felt good to be spoken to like she was an actual person instead of being no more than choice piece of meat.

Jean turned around, her hands nervously fidgeting with the lotion bottle she was holding. She wasn't sure what she meant to say. But before anything could come out, she was startled by a loud noise outside. The door of her salon swung open, pushed with so much force that later Jean would find the doorknob had left a hole in the wall behind it. Lily's face was red and she was breathing fast and hard.

"Momma!," the girl cried. Jean ran for her daughter and grabbed the girl by the shoulders.

"What's wrong?," she asked. Jean could already feel her heart beating in her ears. "Where's your sister?," she asked the girl.

"He was waiting for us in the kitchen!," Lily cried, " That bad man! He hit Miss Lynn over the head... Then he grabbed Rose!"

Jean felt the ground pounding under her hightop sneakers. But everything passed by her in a blur. She had made it down to the kitchen running on pure adrenaline. And she supposed she must have dragged Lily with her because the girl was there and Jean had a death grip on her hand. Miss Lynn was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, a little rivulet of blood running down the side of her face. Two of the other women were holding onto each other, watching in horror as the man that was supposed to be on guard tried to get the door to the supply closet open.

"I can't shoot it open or I might hit her instead," the man hollered, looking as helpless as he probably felt at the moment. Jean shoved him out of her way and started pounding on the door. As soon as Rose heard her mother outside the door the girl started screaming for her. The terror in her daughter's voice sent Jean into pure hysterics. She yanked at the locked door handle. When that didn't work she started pounding on the heavy door with her fists and screaming. She almost turned on Daryl and attacked him when he grabbed her by the waist.

"Move back!," he told her. It was not a request. As he spoke he physically yanked Jean away from the door. Then he lifted his leg and started kicking the door. He kicked as close to the knob as he could. Jean was screaming behind him. Her younger daughter had rushed into her arms and the girl was crying so hard snot was bubbling out of her nose. Daryl gave the door one more hard kick, hearing the satisfying sound of the wood cracking under his boot. The door opened out, but he had managed to crack the doorframe enough that when he grabbed the doorknob and yanked hard, the door pulled open.

The only part of Lily that Daryl could see were her feet, since the man was lying on top of her on the floor. Daryl grabbed him, one hand grasping his shirt and the other grabbing a handful of his greasy hair. He yanked the man up and away from Jean's daughter and slammed him down as hard as possible onto the kitchen floor. Daryl didn't wait for the man to try and get up. He slammed his boot into the man's stomach. He grunted, his arms moving up to try and protect his head and face. The coward was brave enough to attack a little girl but was too scared to fight a grown man.

The man's shirt hung open and there were red scratches on his chest and face, where Rose had tried to fight him off. His pants were pushed down around his thighs, revealing what passed for his dick along with his hairy white ass. It made Daryl sick to think about what that man had either already done or had been getting ready to do if he hadn't shown up. He pulled his leg back and kicked the man again, this time in the crotch. The man groaned loudly and doubled over, his hands moving down from his head to cup his now throbbing genitals.

Daryl kicked the man again, aiming for his kidneys. Then he stomped down hard on him a few times. Once he was good and softened up, Daryl kicked the fucking pervert right in the mouth. Blood and a few of the man's teeth scattered across the floor of the kitchen. Somewhere in the background Daryl could hear Jean's daughters crying and he could hear her screaming. Not for him to stop, but for him to kill the man he was beating.

The loud crashing boom echoed through the kitchen, reverberating off the walls and the large metal sinks. Daryl stopped mid kick, the sole of his boot squeaking against the tile floor as he pulled his foot to a hault. Negan was standing in the kitchen. A few of his goons and the guard that had been trying to push the door in were hovering around behind him.

"What in the fuck is going on down here?," the big man barked. Daryl turned to look at Jean. She was clothed from the waist up in only her bra. Rose was wearing her shirt. Jean had both girls wrapped in her arms, holding them against her chest. Her face was streaked with tears and her hair had pulled loose from the elastic she had tied it back in.

"That fucking pig was raping my daughter," Jean screamed, pointing at the man that was lying bloody on the ground. Negan crossed the small distance between himself and the man. At first Daryl was nervous that the big man was coming for him. But Negan leaned down and began screaming in the bloody man's face.

"RAPE IS AGAINST THE FUCKING RULES!," he screamed. Not only was rape against the rules. Jean's daughter was just a little girl. And that was worse than against the rules. That was some sick shit. "YOU ARE ONE SICK FUCK!," Negan added.

Negan was pissed because a child got hurt. Really fucking pissed. But he was even more pissed that the stupid sick pervert made him look bad. Everyone was going to find out about this. People were already gathering in every doorway of the kitchen, trying to see what all the noise was about. Shit like this made Negan look like he didn't have any control over his men. Because of that, now everyone needed to see what happened when someone disobeyed the rules. Negan stepped back.

"Carry the fuck on then," he told Daryl, motioning toward the man on the ground. Negan knew Daryl was a tough mother fucker when the man had the balls to take a swing at him. But even he was surprised when Daryl didn't hesitate at all to follow his instructions. He went right back to kicking the life out of the disgusting pervert on the floor.

Negan turned towards the man that was supposed to have been keeping control of the kitchen and the common area. The young man looked scared. He probably thought he was next. But Negan would just knock him back down to working for points for a while. "When Daryl is done with that fuck, string him up out on the fence," Negan ordered. The man bobbed his head and dropped to one knee, still looking like he was ready to piss his pants.

That was done. Now Negan just needed to figure out a way to get Jean and her girls out of the kitchen as fast as possible without making an even bigger scene. He handed his bat off to one of the men behind him. Then he walked towards the woman, skirting around Daryl and the man he was kicking to death. When he reached towards Jean she recoiled from him.

"S'alright," he told the woman. She reminded him of a frightened animal. Her eyes were wide and she looked ready to claw him like a feral cat if he tried to touch her. "We need to get your daughter somewhere safe. Get a doctor for her." Jean nodded but she didn't release her death grip on the girl. "Give her to me. I'm going to pick her up so she doesn't have to walk." Jean nodded again, but she also jerked the girl away and put her body between them when Negan reached for her.

"Don't touch her!," Jean cried out, the hysteria and panic showing in her voice and the way it broke and squeaked. Negan took another tentative step towards them, trying to decide if it would be better to try and coax the woman until she allowed him to help her or if it might be best to drag them away as fast as possible even if it meant making Jean scream. As he paused, trying to make his decision, Negan felt a hand on his arm. People made every effort to stay out of his personal space. And they certainly didn't touch him without permission. If he hadn't been so grateful to see Daryl there, ready to help him with Jean, he might have gotten seriously pissed.

Daryl moved towards Jean slowly, leaving bloody bootprints behind him. Her younger daughter was quick to accept his help. Lily rushed into the man's arms and hugged him around the waist. He patted her head, then told her as kindly as possible that she would have to let him go so he could help her sister. Jean's eyes were still wide with fear. But she allowed him into her personal space. When he pulled Rose away from her to pick the girl up Daryl saw Jean had a smear of blood across her breasts. Rose had either a bloody nose or a bloody lip. Maybe both. Daryl lifted the girl into his arms and held her against his chest. Then he turned back towards Negan.

"Where am I takin' her?"


	10. Chapter 10

Between the Thorns

Chapter 10

Daryl had no idea where he was taking the girl. He walked as close behind Negan as he could without running smack into the large man. As he cluched Jean's older daughter tighter against his chest, it struck Daryl as ironic that he was now doing at least two of the things he has promised himself that he wouldn't do. And not only that, he was doing them both at the same time. Daryl swore to himself over and over again that he would never follow Negan, yet at that moment he was blindly willing to go wherever the man was leading him. And since waking up in Jean's bed, Daryl had convinced himself that it wasn't in his best interests to get involved in her life or her problems. That ended when he beat a man to death for touching her daughter.

The small group walked in a direction that Daryl hadn't taken since arriving in the Sanctuary. Up. The old factory that served as a home base for the saviors was something of a maze. There were whole sections of it that Daryl had not been permitted to enter. Until now. He did his best to memorize the path he had taken, but he was having a hard time concentrating on his escape plan. Rose clung to him tightly at first with the arm she wasn't keeping tight against her chest like it was hurting her. But halfway up the stairs the girl lost consciousness. Her head lolled against Daryl's shoulders and her long skinny legs started swinging loosely in time with his movements. Fainting was never a good sign. He was afraid something was seriously wrong with her.

After walking down a long hallway that was lighted mainly with candles and oil lamps, Negan led them into a large room that was set up like like the lounge area in a high class bar or hotel might be. A few scantily clad women leaped up from whatever useless leisure activities they had been taking part in. Two of them had been playing a game of checkers. When the young blonde one leaped up, she sent the board and all the pieces flying onto the floor. Negan stomped in. Ignoring the women, he tossed his baseball bat onto a small coffee table. It landed with a loud clink, cracking the glass table top. The already startled looking women scattered like high heeled roaches, clearly displaying that they had no desire to be involved in whatever fresh horror was about to take place. The only one that held her ground was Sherry. But even she backed up to hover behind the bar.

"Go get Dr. Carson," Negan ordered. Sherry didn't stop to question the situation or Negan's command. She hurried from the room. The sound of her impractical shoes echoed off the walls as she clacked and clicked away down the hall. Negan opened a door on the far wall of the room, gesturing Daryl inside. "Bring her in here," he said, his tone lower and less demanding than when he had spoken to Sherry.

The next room that Daryl entered was done up as lavishly as the first. In the center of it was the largest bed he had ever seen. The place was so clean it looked like a room in a model home, not the sort of place where anyone would actually sleep. Daryl hesitated near the bed, nervous to set the girl down for fear that she might ruin or rumple what he guessed was Negan's personal living space. The big man stepped forward and yanked the covers back, nodding that it was alright for Daryl to lay the girl down.

The change from being held securely in Daryl's strong arms to being laid down on a set of cold sheets woke the girl. Rose's eyes got wide, and then wider once she realized she was lying on in an unfamiliar bed with two men hovering over her. She shrieked as she immediately began to panic. Jean pushed past the two men. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took her daughter's hand. The woman spoke quietly and calmly to the girl, telling her she was alright and that no one was going to hurt her. Daryl was impressed by how well Jean had managed to pull herself together on the walk up to Negan's apartment. She was so focused on her daughter that she appeared to be unconcerned that she still didn't have a shirt on.

"Where am I?," Rose asked. Since Jean wasn't sure exactly where they were, she hesitated before answering the girl's question. Negan stepped forward. He moved slowly and was careful not to get too close to Jean and her frightened daughter.

"This is my bedroom," he told the girl. Rose glanced around, her sudden curiosity making her momentarily forget her fear. "No one is going to fuck with you as long as you're in here," he added.

Despite his coarse language, Jean was grateful to the man. In the medical center they would have had to deal with prying eyes and questions from everyone that heard what happened. At least here her daughter would have some privacy to deal with what had just happened. She knew Negan wouldn't be helping them if there wasn't some advantage for him. Likely he was trying to hush up what had just happened before anyone else found out. But Jean was still grateful to him for the help.

"Thank you," Jean told him. And for once she actually meant it. Not like so many other times when she had been forced to thank Negan and she would have rather been spitting in his face. Many criticisms could be made about the leader of the saviors but the man wasn't completely lacking in kindness.

When she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, Jean turned expecting to find Negan standing there. But instead it was Daryl that had approached her. He shrugged off the flannel he was wearing over his t-shirt and handed it to her. It wasn't until Jean had the well worn fabric in her hands that she realized she was shivering. And wearing nothing on her top half except a bra that didn't leave much to the imagination. When she threaded her arms through the sleeves and wrapped the oversized shirt around her torso, she could still feel the heat from Daryl's body lingering in the lining.

Before he could retreat, Jean caught Daryl with the hand she wasn't using to hold onto her daughter. She had no words for the feelings she wanted to express to him. Feelings that were all jumbled up inside her. Guilt mixed with fear and her love for her children. She was grateful to Daryl. Jean didn't even want to think about how much worse the situation might have gotten if Daryl hadn't kicked in the door when he did. She felt she owed him a great debt. One she couldn't even begin to figure out how to repay. For the moment she simply squeezed his hand. Daryl didn't seem to know what to say to her either, he just gripped her smaller hand with his larger one, bringing his free hand over to cup the back of her palm.

TWD

Daryl shifted his body uncomfortably on the expensive fabric of Negan's sofa. Sherry had arrived quickly with the doctor, who had then chased everyone but Jean and her older daughter from Negan's bedroom. Lily wanted to stay with her sister, but Sherry whisked the younger girl away with the promise of candy that she had back in her room. It was for the best. The girl had already seen enough. She didn't need to see anything else. This left Daryl alone with Negan, sitting on one of his fancy sofas in his lounge.

Not only did the whiskey in his hand smell expensive, it had ice cubes in it. Actual ice. They had freezers in Alexandria. But Daryl had gotten so used to drinking things at room temperature that he had never really taken advantage of the small luxuries that his former home offered. At one time he had hated that place and the false security it offered. Now he would give almost anything to be back with his own people and away from this horrible place.

Daryl held his glass in his hand, staring into the amber liquid like he might see his future written there. The last time he had been drunk, he had been drinking with Beth. Beth. She had't crossed his concious mind in such a long time. He tried not to think of Beth, for fear that the guilt and the sadness would overtake him. Beth was just another dead girl that he had failed to protect. Like the little girl and her mother that he could hear crying in the next room. Daryl lifted the glass to his lips and tossed the contents down his throat. The burn in his throat was glorious. The bourbon warmed his belly, already bringing on the promised numbing effects that alcohol always had on him.

Negan downed his own glass, reaching eagerly for the bottle so he could pour another round for both himself and Daryl. The big man swore under his breath, leaning back into the plush cushions of the couch and letting out a long breath of air. For a moment Daryl half expected the man to make some sort of crude joke about the situation. But it seemed some things were off limits when it came to joking, even for Negan. Daryl didn't want to really admit it, but the large man looked tired and worn out. His hair was disheveled and his shirt was rumpled. There was blood splashed across the front of it. After his careful observation of Negan, Daryl looked down at himself. His knuckles were covered in blood. More of it was splattered up his forearms.

"That was some bad ass shit down there," Negan announced, his eyes drawn to the same blood stains that Daryl had been looking at as he held his drink in his hand. "Sure you don't want to work for me?," Negan added. When Daryl didn't answer right away the big man let out a quiet snort of laughter. Daryl was loyal to a fault, Negan had seen that right away. That's why the man had caught his interest. Negan needed loyal men around him the way he needed air to breathe. He had Daryl. The only trick left was figuring out how to get Daryl to be loyal to him instead of that stooge Rick. Jean was the key. Negan was even more convinced of that now than he had been before. He just needed to figure out how to use her.

"You know the difference between me and Rick?," Negan asked. As he waited for Daryl to answer, he got up and retrieved the man a towel from behind the bar so he could clean the blood off his hands.

Daryl took the towel, wiping half heartedly at the stains on his hands. He was waiting for the punchline of what he was sure was going to be yet another horrible joke. Daryl was worried about Jean and her daughter. And even if he wasn't already distracted, Negan's crude humor didn't hold much interest for him.

"Naw," Daryl mumbled when it became obvious that Negan was going to sit and stare at him until he answered the man's idiotic question, "I dunno."

"You met him first," Negan proclaimed.

His words caught Daryl off guard. Daryl had been waiting for the man to say something about the size of his dick or how many wives he had. Anything but what he said. When Negan had asked him what the difference between him and Rick was, Daryl had been sure that he could have written a novel on the differences between the two men. Now he wasn't so sure. He had to ask himself if Negan had really done anything to them that they hadn't already done to him? If Rick was in Negan's position would he really have been merciful instead of cruel? Daryl wasn't so sure anymore. Knowing that Jean's husband had been one of the men they killed at the outpost had given Daryl a new perspective on the situation. It was getting harder and harder for him to keep painting himself and Rick as the heroes in all of this.

The soft click of the bedroom door caught the attention of both men. Dr. Carson shuffled over. He was obviously nervous to be in Negan's presence. The man's hands were shaking and he stuttered when he opened his mouth to speak.

"Is she gonna be alright?," Daryl asked, unable to wait any longer for the man to stop stammering and bowing his fucking head to Negan.

"She's more scared than hurt," the man finally spit out. Once he began speaking about Rose's medical condition his words seemed to flow more easily. The man was a doctor. At some time in his life he must have been used to being in charge. "I had to sedate the girl before I could examine her, so she will probably be out for several hours. She has a lot of bruises and both her lips are split. One of her elbows is dislocated. She's going to need to keep it in a sling for a few weeks. Other than that she's unharmed." The man had been directing his words to Negan. But he paused and looked at Daryl instead, speaking to him directly. "Jean asked me to be sure and tell you that you got there in time. It could have been much worse. She's very grateful to you for that."

Daryl nodded, not sure quite what to say. He had helped Jean's daughter because it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. He didn't expect anything from her. The doctor nodded back. Then he started shuffling back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other until Negan hollered at him.

"Anything else?," Negan asked. Dr. Carson shook his head. "Then fuck off downstairs!," Negan hollered. The man nodded his head and scurried away like a rat in a white coat.

"Thank fuckin' gawd," Daryl mumbled, not realizing until the words were out of his mouth that he was speaking out loud. It had been a long time since he had any hard liquor. The two strong drinks had gone straight to his head, loosening his lips.

"Good thing for Jean you were there this time," Negan remarked.

"This time?," Daryl repeated. He lifted his thumb to his mouth, chewing on the side of it. He didn't like the implication of Negan's words. He felt like the man was hinting towards more trouble to come. And Daryl didn't like the sound of it.

 _This time?_ It wasn't the words that Daryl spoke that turned the lightbulb on inside Negan's head. It was his tone. Hearing how upset and angry Daryl was at the very idea that something else might happen to Jean or her pretty little girls was the click of the key in the lock. But Negan didn't want to push him too far too fast. He just wanted to give Daryl something to marinate on for a while.

"Yeah," Negan said, his voice dripping with concern that wasn't hard to fake since he honestly was a little worried for the woman and her girls. Jean was a pain in his ass since since her husband died but she was still good people. She had always been a contributing member of his group. And her husband had been loyal as fuck, a good soldier to the end.

"We have rules. But rules can only prevent so much. I'm afraid that as long as she's single and without a man to protect her, Jean and her girls are going to have a lot of fucking problems."

Negan paused, watching Daryl's reaction to his words. The man was hard to read but Negan was fairly sure he was having his desired effect on the man. But just to be safe he added one last choice tidbit of information. "I already offered Jean my personal protection. Offered to marry her and take care of her and her girls," Negan said, a sly smile spreading across his face, "...but she turned me down. Maybe now she'll change her mind."


	11. Chapter 11

Between the Thorns

Chapter 11

Daryl sat at the table, looking down at the few bites of food that were left on his plate. He was already full, but throwing away anything that was even partially edible never sat right with him. As he pushed the few remaining bits of potato around on his plate, he could hear the book Jean was reading to her daughters as she put the girls to bed in the next room. From his angle he could only see Rose's feet, two small girl foot sized lumps under a light purple woven blanket.

"Dr. Carson gave me medicine you can take to help you sleep if you need it," Jean offered once she had finished the chapter she was reading and placed the book on the small table next to Rose's bed. Lily had fallen asleep after the first page. She was snoring softly in the bed furthest away from the door, one of her father's old beat up shirts clutched tightly in her arms.

"I'm fine," Rose said, "I didn't like the way that stuff made me feel." Her mother looked unsure so Rose offered up a compromise. "I will take a tylenol for my arm." Her mother smiled and hurried to fetch the small white tablet for her. After she swallowed it with a sip of water from the cup on her nightstand, she allowed her mother to pull her into a gentle hug. They held onto each other for a long time. Jean stroked her hands over her daughter's hair and rubbed her back. Finally she let go and Rose sunk down into her pillow. She looked so small and helpless lying there, so much younger than she looked when she was clomping around the apartment. Jean had to fight back her tears for what felt like at least the hundreth time in the last few hours. She swore to herself she wasn't going to lose it in front of her girls. They had already been through enough without watching their mother have the nervous breakdown that Jean felt like she was well overdue for.

"I love you so much," Jean said. She cupped Rose's cheek with her hand, rubbing her thumb back and forth across the little bit of baby softness that was left in the girl. "I would die if anything ever happened to you."

"I love you too mom," Rose whispered back, nuzzling into her mother's gentle touch instead of jerking away as had been her habit of late. "Don't cry," she added. Rose looked over her mother's shoulder, smiling at what she saw there. Jean turned, following the girl's gaze.

"S'alright if I say g'night to 'er?," Daryl asked. He was hovering in the doorway, looking unsure about whether or not his presence there would be welcome. Jean smiled through the tears in her eyes.

"Of course you can say goodnight if you want to," Jean assured him. Rose held her arms out, beckoning the man to come closer to her. Jean rose from the bed and side stepped Daryl, moving to lean against the doorframe. She took the spot Daryl had just vacated. He shuffled over towards the small bed. Rose grasped him by the hand and pulled the man down so she could wrap her skinny arms around his neck. How awkward and unsure Daryl was only served to make the whole scene look just that much more adorable.

"G'night," he said, eager to back away where he would be out of reach. It didn't bother him as much, since she was just a kid, but he was still uncomfortable with open displays of physical affection. Rose smiled and returned his sentiment. Then she rolled onto her side and pulled the covers up to her chin. Jean waited until Daryl was out of the room before she clicked the light off and shut the door almost all the way, leaving it open juat a crack so she could listen for her girls in case they needed her in the night.

Jean disappeared into her bedroom without any further discussion. When her door clicked shut, Daryl headed for the couch and began to shift the pillow and blanket around so he could try and get some sleep himself. He was taken aback when Jean reappeared a few seconds later, dressed in soft cotton drawstring pants and an oversized t-shirt. Her feet were bare and there was chipped red polish on her toes.

"No," she said. Jean walked across the small room and snatched up the pillow and blanket Daryl had been using to make up his bed on the couch. "After what you did for us today I'm not going to have you sleeping on a couch," she announced.

"I'm not puttin' ya outta yer own bed," Daryl argued. He made a grab for the pillow in Jean's hands but she danced back out of his reach.

"It's a king sized bed. I'm pretty sure we can both fit," Jean assured him.

It took a moment for her words to sink in. Jean wasn't just offering to let him sleep in her bed. She was inviting him to sleep in her bed with her. Daryl's eyes roamed over her body as he wondered if she was inviting him ito her room for something more than just a good night's rest. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cross that line with her. His body did. In fact the sweats Jean had given him to wear after they had all taken turns washing up in one of the tiled shower rooms that the residents of the Sanctuary used for bathing were already feeling tighter in the crotch just from the thought of the possibility of getting Jean's smaller body under his larger one. But Daryl wasn't sure if he was ready for the ramifications that might come from such an act. And he was suspicious of Jean's motives. He had helped her because it was the right thing to do. She didn't owe him anything for that. And he certainly wasn't expecting sex as payment for saving her daughter. Seeing the girl home safe was thanks enough.

Jean hugged the pillow tighter against her chest. She was grateful to have it in her arms, mainly to hide how hard her nipples had become. She had never become aroused just from having a man look at her before. But suddenly the blush was rising in her cheeks. She could tell from the change in his body posture and facial expressions that Daryl was under the impression that she was offering to have sex with him. She wasn't. Not that she didn't want to. But she didn't feel emotionally ready for anything even close to that. But he thought that's what she meant. And still he was hesitating. Somehow that made him more appealing.

"Ya don't owe me that," Daryl said, his low tone drawl finally breaking the heavy silence between them.

"Just to sleep," she squeaked out. Clearing her throat, Jean repeated herself, "I only meant to sleep. Not that."

Jean half expected the conversation to turn ugly. For Daryl to get angry and accuse her of being a tease. But he only nodded. He looked more relieved than anything else.

Daryl climed into the large bed on the side that had a small empty table next to it. Jean stalked quietly around the apartment, turning off the lights. Soon they were bathed only in the dim light of the nightlight she kept turned on for her daughters. Jean slid under the covers on the opposite side of the bed. She had been right. There was plenty of space for them both to sleep in the large bed. Daryl knew he was only inviting trouble but he found himself a little disappointed that she was so far away from him.

The mattress was soft and plush. The blankets were heavy and warm. The whole bed smelled like Jean's lavendar and honey shampoo. For the first time since he arrived Daryl didn't miss his old bed in Alexandria. Not at all. As he snuggled down into his pillow, Daryl heard a ragged breath being drawn in on the other side of the bed. She was being as quiet as possible, muffing her sobs into the pillow. But Jean was over there crying. Daryl was sure of it.

Daryl started off by rolling the other way and putting his back to her. Once again he told himself that Jean's problems were not his problems. And how to deal with crying women wasn't exactly his specialty. But then Daryl started thinking about what had happened to her daughter earlier that day. And about how much Jean was probably missing her husband. Very quickly Daryl started to feel like the most uncaring person in the world for lying there and not offering her even a word of comfort.

Rolling his body back the other way, Daryl inched across the bed. Once Jean was in arm's reach of him he closed the distance between them and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She gasped when he touched her and he almost yanked his hand back. But then her hand closed down over his, keeping him where he was. They stayed frozen in that position for what felt like an eternity. Neither of them was sure what the next move might be.

"I hafta get back ta my people," Daryl whispered, "I can't stay here forever."

Daryl wasn't sure where the words had come from. Only that the one thing he was sure of was that he didn't want to cause Jean any further pain. He knew it was stupid of him to warn anyone in the Sanctuary that he planned to run away at the first available opportunity. But the truth had just come spilling out. Maybe speaking it aloud had been his way of reminding himself that he was needed somewhere else.

"I know," Jean whispered back.

Her voice sounded so small and so sad that it crumbled that last bit of self restraint Daryl had inside him. He reached out with both arms and pulled her across the bed towards him until she was gathered up in his arms with her head resting on his chest. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower and it smelled even better than the pillow he had been resting his head on. Once he was holding her tight against him, she started crying harder. Jean gripped the thin material of his grey t-shirt. A shirt that Daryl was sure used to belong to her husband. Just like everything else he now had in his possession. Including Jean. Her sobs racked her small body. Daryl held on tight, feeling like he was caught in a boat at sea during a storm.

Soon Jean had rid her body of all the emotions of the day. She felt embarrassed for crying in front of Daryl. But from the way he was holding her she knew he didn't mind. He held her close with one strong arm. With his other hand he was caressing her long dark hair, twirling the long silky strands around his fingers and then releasing them only to start the process over again. She had been right about his arms. They were meant for holding.

Jean adjusted her body, tucking in closer to Daryl's side. She hiked one leg up, draping it over his thigh so her foot rested between his knees. She hummed a tiny sigh of pleasure before she nuzzled her head into the nook under his shoulder. Sleep and the comforting warmth of his body were staring to make her eyes droop. But there was something that had been nagging at the corners of her mind. A question she hadn't felt comfortable enough to ask the man beside her until after he had taken her into his arms.

"Your people back home...," Jean murmured, "Are you trying to get back to someone that you love?"

Daryl paused, unsure of how to answer her question. Rick and Carol and Carl and Maggie and all the rest of them. They were family. The only functional family Daryl had even known. He loved them. But he didn't think he loved them in the way Jean was asking about. She wanted to know if he had a wife or girlfriend he was trying to get back to. Maybe even kids of his own. He didn't have any of that.

"No," he said. The word felt like a betrayal to Rick. But it was true. There was no one back in Alexandria that he loved. Not in the way that Jean had loved her husband. The man that was dead because of them.

Jean's next question threw him more than her first. It kept Daryl lying awake for a long while, even after Jean had long since stopped waiting for an answer and was sleeping soundly in his arms.

"Then what are you fighting so hard to get back to?"


	12. Chapter 12

Between the Thorns

Chapter 12

Daryl leaned back and closed his eyes, a low groan of pleasure escaping from between his lips. One part of his mind was struggling to figure out how exactly he had gotten himself in this precarious situation. While the other was focused on what Jean's slim body had felt like curled into his.

When he woke that morning it had been to her, still nestled safe in his arms. Her long hair was mussed from sleep and at some time during the night her hand had slunk up underneath his shirt. The flat of her open palm had been resting against the bare skin of his chest, just above the small faded tattoo he had there.

The day had started out as normally as days at the end of the world could. A knock on the door signaled that someone had brought breakfast for them. And not just any breakfast. There was bacon. And sausage. Jean made a few halfhearted jokes about the bacon being some sort of hush money. Daryl knew Negan wanted her to keep quiet and not make a fuss about what happened to her daughter. He had been quite blunt about it the day before. Jean seemed comfortable with the big man's request, saying that she would rather keep the incident private anyway. Daryl wasn't sure how he felt about it. He didn't like secrets. Or bribes. But bribe or no bribe, Daryl had to admit that the fried slices of pork were the best thing he had put in his mouth since the beginning of the turn.

The swelling in Rose's face had gone down during the night, leaving behind a map of colorful bruises. Her lip was split and she had one hell of a black eye. The white of that same eye was red with broken capillaries, making her icy blue pupil appear an even deeper blue than usual. But looking terrible did nothing to diminish the girl's appetite. Rose was happy to inform them, much to the horror of her mother, that since she was the one that got almost raped she deserved the two extra pieces of bacon that were left after all the meat was divided up fairly between the four of them. No one seemed equipt to argue with her declaration. So Rose snatched up the two slices of crispy pork and shoveled them into her mouth while she and her sister cackled like two tiny evil hyenas.

During the meal Jean touched Daryl's shoulder twice and placed her hand on his knee once. Not that he was counting. He was enjoying her company even more, now that the uncomfortable tension between them was gone. It had been replaced by a different sort of tension. The sort that felt more like static electricity. Daryl kept waiting for Jean's daughters to say something about him sleeping in bed with their mother. The girls had woken up before them and had come into the bedroom to wake their mother up. So he knew they had seen him in their mother's bed. But if they had questions, neither of the girls asked any while he was around.

Daryl did catch Jean's younger dark haired daughter staring at him a few times during breakfast. Whenever his eyes met hers she would quickly avert her stare, a sweet little smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He could only guess that this meant the girl approved of his new position in the family.

Negan had been gracious enough to offer Jean and her girls three days off to 'recover from the incident'. But apparently that offer did not extend to Daryl. Because shortly after breakfast, the blonde woman he met during his tour of the garage came to collect him for work. Both Jean's girls hopped up from the table to hug him goodbye while the blonde woman lurked in the doorway with an amused look on her face.

Daryl was usually good with names. He was detail oriented, a personality trait that he always felt was responsible for making him a skilled tracker. But the name of the blonde woman that he was going to be working with had escaped him. He was grateful when she reintroduced herself without making it awkward for him.

Laura was her name. She was tall for a girl. Almost as tall as Daryl. She had a tattoo on the side of her neck, a silver ring through her nose, and she walked with large manly strides. She reminded Daryl a little bit of Michonne, not in personality or looks but more in the general way she carried herself. The small reminder of home put Daryl more at ease than he would normally be around a person he didn't know well yet.

Daryl had never worked with a female mechanic before. But he could tell right away that Laura was good at what she did. She talked too much. But other than that she was pleasant enough to work with. Daryl quickly figured out that she was able to keep up a steady stream of conversation without much input from him. After that he just tuned her chatter out and concentrated on the jobs he had been given.

Mike was the young black man that ran the garage. Daryl knew his name, having committed it to memory since the man was introduced to him as his new boss. He hovered around Daryl for the first hour or two. Daryl assumed the man was checking to make sure he knew what he was doing. Which he did. After a while Mike got either saw whatever he had been watching for or got bored with babysitting Daryl. He headed to another part of the shop and started working on a project of his own. Daryl didn't ask any questions, but from what he could see it looked like the man was customizing several trucks to make it so the people inside them would be better protected from the walkers. It was a project that interested him. Many times Daryl had thought about doing something similar with his bike or maybe even Aaron's RV. But he had never had the time or the parts.

The jobs Daryl had been given were routine maintenence checks that almost anyone with any knowledge of engines could have done. He changed the oil in a large truck. Switched out a leaky tire on another truck. He was in the middle of cleaning up a small oil spill when he realized Laura had said his name several times in a row and he hadn't responded.

"Huh?," Daryl asked. She laughed and repeated her question, asking him if he wanted to take a coffee break with her. He nodded and wiped his greasy hands off on a shop rag. Coffee sounded good. He was thirsty and his body was already starting to feel fatigued just from the small amount of physical labor he had done. The time he had spent dehydrated in isolation hadn't done him any favors. And several of his knuckles were cracked and swollen from slamming them into the face of the man that had attacked Jean's daughter the day before.

Laura led him through the shop and around a corner where a small office area was set up. The room didn't have a door on it, but due to it's location in the shop the area was partially secluded.

"Mike's not having coffee with us?," Daryl asked.

"He had to run down to the other warehouse to get a part he needed," Laura said, winking at him. Daryl shrugged and assumed that she was making reference to some sort of joke that he wasn't in on. Maybe Mike was actually visiting a girlfriend instead of looking for parts. Daryl didn't really care either way. Mike's business was his own.

Laura filled up a stained mug with coffee from a small coffee machine on the opposite wall. Daryl took the mug and thanked her even though the coffee smelled burnt. Looking around, he noticed there wasn't much in the way of seating so he perched on the edge of the desk. He took a sip from his mug, glad the coffee didn't taste as bad as it smelled. Even it had tasted like mud he still would have drunk it. Any coffee was good coffee as long as it provided him with the burst of energy he was looking for.

Laura sat down next to him on the desk. She was so close that her thigh was touching his. Daryl felt a little uncomfortable having the woman in his personal space. He didn't know her well enough to consider her anything other than a friendly seeming stranger. But there wasn't really anywhere else to sit. So Daryl didn't say anything about her being so close to him. He didn't realize she was coming on to him until her hand was down his pants.

Several years of absolutely no sexual contact with any woman had combined with having Jean's warm body pressed up against his all night, leaving him extremely sexually frustrated. So while he didn't necessarily do anything to encourage the woman that seemed more than eager to get on her knees in front of him, Daryl didn't exactly make a grand attempt to stop her either. She smelled like gunpowder and motor oil. But her hand was warm and her mouth was wet. When she wrapped her lips around his throbbing erection, Daryl braced his hands flat against the top of the desk and closed his eyes. Some of the coffee from his cup spilled out. The liquid was hot against the skin of his hand.

The part of the whole incident that made Daryl feel the worst later on was that he had actually been thinking about Jean while another woman had his dick in her mouth. He hadn't planned to have a sex fantasy about her. Like the sex act itself, it had just happened. He closed his eyes and images of the woman just came. He thought about the way she smelled. About how soft and silky her long dark hair was. And especially about the small tattoo on the inside of her hip bone and how badly he wanted to see the rest of it.

When Daryl opened his eyes and saw the woman he had been picturing in his mind standing there, at first he thought she was part of what he had been imagining. Then he noticed that Jean's mouth was hanging open. There was a lunch tray in her hands. Her big brown eyes were wide with shock. She seemed as unable to believe what she was seeing as Daryl felt that it was happening in the first place.

"Oh!," Jean said, finally gaining enough control over her body and mouth to let a small syllable squeak out. She took a step back, the tray of food slipping from her hands. As it clattered to the floor Daryl found his release. He grunted, almost as much in pain as in pleasure. The regret of what he had just done washed over him in an immediate wave of guilt.

Seeing that something other than her ministrations had caught Daryl's attention, Laura pulled away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she turned to see who or what had interrupted them.

"Hi Jean," Laura said. Her tone was so casual. It made Daryl cringe as he hurried to stuff himself back into his pants. Jean stood there staring for another moment before she spoke. By the time she did she had pulled herself together and was attempting to hide the hurt and pain in her voice.

"I'm sorry," Jean said. Her voice trembled just a little. "I didn't mean to interrupt you... I think I better go now." With that she spun on her heel and took off back the way she had come.

"What in the hell is her problem?," Laura asked. "You two fuckin' or something?" Daryl shook his head. He darted around Laura and headed out into the shop. His instinct had been to chase after Jean. But once he got halfway through the shop he scuffed his feet to a stop, realizing that he had no idea what he planned to say to the woman even if he did manage to catch up with her.


	13. Chapter 13

Between the Thorns

Chapter 13

Jean turned and ran. She wasn't even sure where she was headed, only that she needed to get away from the disgusting scene she had just witnessed. The rubber soles of her sneakers squeaked against the hard concrete of the shop floor. In her hurry to get out of the garage area she smashed her elbow on the door, the jolt to her funny bone sending a wave of radiating pain up through her arm into her shoulder. She clutched her arm to her chest and kept running.

Her shock at what she had seen wore off quickly. Anger followed it. But the anger was short lived as well. Very quickly, Jean came to the realization that she had no right to be angry. Daryl wasn't her husband. He wasn't her boyfriend. She wasn't sure if he was even her friend. He owed her no loyalty and was free to put his dick in the mouth of whatever whore would have him. Including Laura.

Jean started heading back towards her apartment but she didn't want her daughters to see her upset. Instead of going home, she turned and ducked into the stairwell that led into the depths of the Sanctuary. It was dark and dingy inside, the stairs only light by a few electric torches that were fastened to the wall near the door of each floor. It felt good to be cloaked in the shadows, to have one private moment where no one was watching or judging her every action and expression.

Jean sat down hard, banging her tailbone against the cement step behind her. Ignoring the physical pain, she buried her face in her hands and tried to stop the tears from coming. She was a fool. It had been stupid of her to allow herself to develop any sort of feelings for a man she barely knew. Feelings she hadn't even been sure she had until she saw Daryl with another woman. And deep down Jean felt she deserved to be hurt for even the thought of moving on so quickly after her husband died.

A soft tap on the shoulder snapped Jean out of her self loathing. She jumped at the unexpected contact. Turning with a gasp, she was relieved to find that the person wasn't a threat. Sherry sat down on the stair above her, a lit cigarette pinched between her fingers. Jean opened her mouth to ask the woman what she was doing lurking around in the stairwell. Before the words formed she had already snapped her mouth shut. She already knew what Sherry was doing. She was avoiding Negan.

"Your daughter?," Sherry asked, obviously assuming that Jean was crying about the incident that happened the day before. Jean shook her head. Sherry held out her half full pack of smokes, offering one to Jean. It had been years since Jean smoked. Her husband hated the smell of cigarettes. Jean hesitated, staring at Sherry's outstretched hand. Then finally she reached over and plucked a cigarette from the open pack. Lighting the smoke, she sucked in a drag so deep it made her cough and choke. Sherry laughed and gave her a few friendly pats on the back.

"So what's wrong?," Sherry asked. She moved down a step so that the two women were sitting side by side. The short flowery print dress Sherry had on hiked up, revealing the pale skin of her thighs and the bruises that lined the insides of them. Jean averted her eyes, staring down at the lit cigarette in her hands instead. She had become an expert at not seeing things she didn't want to deal with.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know," Jean answered. She took another drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly before she added the embarrassing truth about why she was bawling in the stairwell. "I went to take Daryl his lunch and when I got there Laura was sucking his dick."

"That fucking skank," Sherry mumbled under her breath. She shook her head and took another drag off her cigarette before she added, "You know she fucked Dwight?" Jean nodded. Everyone knew Laura fucked Dwight. Because she not only liked to sleep around, she also liked to brag about her conquests to anyone that would listen.

"I would really like to kick her ass," Sherry announced.

There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Jean and Sherry looked at each other, both of them trying to decide what their chances were of winning a fight against a woman that was twice their size and three times as strong might be. It would be like a little chihuahua trying to take on a Doberman pinscher. The mental image caused both women to break out into a collective fit of laughter.

Once their laughter had subsided, Jean and Sherry sat quietly together. Jean reached over and caught Sherry's hand in hers. The woman gripped her back like she was drowning and Jean was her floatation device. They had both lost the men they loved. But not in the same way. Jean missed her husband terribly. But she could only imagine how much worse it would feel if instead of being dead, John was only a few rooms away and she wasn't allowed to go to him. Pain like that would swallow a person alive.

"Do you miss D?," Jean asked. Her voice was so low it was scarcely above a whisper. But still Sherry gasped. Speaking negatively about Negan was terrifying. It was forbidden. Most people were so afraid of what might happen that they didn't even speak badly about him in the privacy of their own homes. To imply that one of his wives didn't want to be with him would be considered a very serious infraction. He would take it as a personal insult. And no one insulted Negan and got away with it.

Sherry leaned back and looked up the stairs as far as she could see. Then she leaned forward and looked down, checking to make sure they were totally alone before she answered. Only then did she dare to nod her head.

"I miss him every minute of every day," she whispered.

Jean flicked the last smoldering bit of her cigarette away and pulled Sherry into her arms. The two women clung to each other, both of them enjoying one small moment of being real before they had to go back to pretending like everything was going to be alright. When she let go and leaned back, Jean could tell Sherry had already pulled herself back together. Her face was once again a pretty mask that she wore to hide her true feelings. Feelings she kept buried down deep inside her heart.

"So you like Daryl then?," Sherry teased, eager to lighten the subject. Jean wrinkled up her nose and shook her head. Sherry snorted out a laugh. Jean wasn't fooling anyone except herself. "Then what do you care if he's porking Laura?," Sherry asked.

"I don't care," Jean announced with a grunt of indignation. She hoped if she kept repeating the phrase that it might eventually stick. Now it was Sherry's turn to reach for her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"Is that why you were crying down here in the dark?," Sherry asked, "...because you don't care?" Jean sighed. She lifted Sherry's hand and pressed a soft kiss onto the back of her palm. Jean rose to her feet and pulled the other woman up behind her. They kept hold of each other's hands until the reached the door that led out of the stairwell. Then Jean let go. She had to get back to her daughters and Sherry had to get back to her husband before their extended absence was noticed.

TWD

Simon noticed her the moment she entered the cafeteria. He always noticed her. Jean wasn't just an attractive woman, she was more than that. She had a smile that lit up the room. On the few occasions that she had smiled at him it was like the end of the world never happened.

Jean entered the cafeteria alone, which was unusual for her. She always took her daughters with her everywhere she went. Simon had heard some disturbing rumors about an incident that happened the day before. The stories varied in severity and believability but the common thread was that one of Jean's daughters had been attacked and that the new guy that was staying with her rescued the girl.

Simon was leaning against the wall, pretending to be interested in some stupid update on security that one of the new perimeter guards was giving him. He straightened up his posture when he saw Jean walking in his direction. But she passed right by him without so much as a glance on her way into the smaller kitchen area where the food was ordered and picked up. Simon lingered near the doorway hoping to catch the woman on her way out. He thought he might be able to talk her into eating lunch with him. Or at the very least he planned to walk her back to her apartment so he might have a chance to talk to her. He was upset by the idea that someone had hurt or attempted to hurt one of Jean's daughters. And Simon's admittedly selfish hope was that he might be able to turn the horrible situation to his advantage. If Jean married him, he could offer her his protection. No one would touch the wife or stepchildren of one of Negan's lieutenants. In his mind it would be a win for both of them. He would get to lay claim on the woman he desired and Jean wouldn't have to worry anymore about anything.

Jean hurried through the doorway. Simon didn't have time to get a word out before she was already halfway across the large cafeteria. What was strange to him was that she wasn't heading towards her apartment. She was heading the opposite way. Simon's curiosity got the better of him. He moved to follow the woman, waving off the guard that was still talking to him.

Simon followed Jean, but no too closely. He wanted to know where she was going but he didn't want her to know that he was behind her. They got about halfway to the garage before he figured out what she was doing. Jean was taking lunch to that asshole Daryl. There was no other reason why she would be carrying a lunch tray down into the garage area. Simon huffed out his frustrations and kicked the wall with the toe of his boot. He ducked down an adjacent hallway and pounded the wall a few times with the heel of his hand. If he hadn't looked up at just the right moment he would have missed her.

Jean came flying back out of the garage area. She passed by in a blur, too fast for Simon to see the pained expression on her face. He hurried back the way he had come, again following Jean without her knowledge. This time he wasn't doing it because he was curious. He was filled with genuine concern for her.

At first it looked like Jean was going to head back to her apartment. But about halfway there she took a detour and ducked into the stairwell that led down into the holding area. Simon eased the door open silently behind her. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. For a moment, Simon was torn between going to Jean and offering her whatever comforting words he could muster up and heading back to the garage and beating Daryl senseless for whatever that douche had done to upset her. But in the end he did neither of these things. Simon ducked into the dark stairwell and headed up the steps instead of down. He sat down in the shadows near the wall and listened to Jean and Sherry's very private conversation.

Simon was shocked at the way the two women spoke about Negan. He had his own reservations about the man. But to think something and to say it out loud were too different animals. Both Jean and Sherry could get in a lot of trouble if anyone heard them. Negan had spies everywhere. But what was more upsetting than that was the fact that Jean admitted to having some sort of romantic feelings for the man that was living with her. Simon had hoped that Daryl would drive Jean into his arms, not steal her away from him. By the time that the two women wiped their faces up and headed back to their own living spaces, Simon was sure of one thing. If he wanted any shot with Jean the first thing he would have to do was get rid of Daryl Dixon.


End file.
